


There Is A Light

by hull1984



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 05:25:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10236842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hull1984/pseuds/hull1984
Summary: Harry is gone and Ron is lost without him.  Malfoy is pretty angry about that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first ever fanfiction, written all the way back in 2005. Originally it was written in third person but I have given it a major overhaul and in the process switched to first person. I know that's not everyone's cup of tea but it just seemed to make sense here given the amount of internal dialogue going on. I should probably warn you that HARRY IS DEAD in this story (I didn't feel it warranted a major character death warning as it happens prior to the start and Harry doesn't actually make an appearance in the story). I think some people might think Ron's grief a little excessive but then maybe those people have never lost a best friend. I suppose it could also be read as Ron/Harry if you were so inclined.
> 
> POV switches between Ron and Draco.
> 
> (It's not as depressing as it sounds...or well, it probably is but I like to think it's funny too)

  
I’m tired. Tired of myself. Tired and sickened by myself. Why can’t I just get over it? Other people had. People lost people all the time.  What makes me so special? So weak?

I’m just so sick of resolutions that don’t last an hour after I open my eyes. Sick of lying to myself day after day - this will be the last time...the last drink...the last tear...the last lie. Tomorrow I’ll take back my life. Tomorrow...

I don’t even wait for the grief to lead me now. I’m addicted, anaesthetised. No longer running from the pain...I’m paralysed.

It scares me.

Sometimes, I think about telling someone, finally giving in to their pleas to help. But I can’t. I’m too ashamed, ashamed of what I’ve become.

Besides, it’s too late now, no one tries anymore. They’ve given up on me and who can blame them?

I’m just so fucking tired...of feeling, of waking. First thought, last thought, every thought. I’ve got to make it stop...the pain, the fear, the panic attacks.

I’ll never see him again. How can I never see him again? I can’t do it. It can’t be true.

Please help me.

But there’s no one left to help. And that’s just about the saddest thing...I never thought I’d be so alone. It’s the one thing I never doubted. There would _always_ be someone.

But there isn’t. I’ve pushed them away too many times and now they aren’t coming back.

Harry would have come back.

Harry wouldn’t have given up on me.

Oh, Merlin.  There.  I’ve come full circle.  Not coming back.  Harry.  Never coming back.

I press the heels of my hands against my closed eyes and try not to breathe.

Stop. Stop it all. I don’t want to feel this anymore.

I miss him, I just miss him.

I lift the glass to my lips again as I close my eyes against the coming tears.

~~~

_Shit._

Oh Merlin, I feel like shit.

Blearily, very blearily I look at my clock. Slowly the numbers come into focus - 6.16pm.

A sharp noise pierces my brain and I wince in pain. There it is again - a definite ringing in my head.

Oh, go away. Stupid bloody doorbell.

I don’t open the door these days.

If it isn’t salesmen or religious nuts, it’s members of my family trying to be kind - or, it used to be - so, I just don’t bother anymore.

Ten more rings of the bloody annoying bell, and I’m beginning to wish I’d disconnected it. And why doesn’t the fucker pressing it, take the hint and sod off? My soul is beyond saving and I don’t need secondary double glazing. Surely everyone else has given up on me?

Suddenly the bell stops.

I sigh in relief and close my eyes again, relaxing back into my pillows.

“Where the fuck are you, Weasel? How dare you refuse to open the door to me. Who the fuck do you think you are? You might treat your friends and family like this but some of us demand more respect, you little shit"

Oh fuck. I feel sick, my head throbs and my stomach lurches.

Merlin no, not him.  Anybody but him.  McGonagall, Snape, Aragog, fucking Voldemort... but please, please not him.

I think about it and frown. It can’t be him. Why would it be? What possible reason would Draco Malfoy have to visit me?

Malfoy crashes through the bedroom door.

“So here you are you - you - Weasel!"

Then he stops, seemingly at a loss for words.

Okay, so maybe it is Malfoy.

Fuck.

The bastard is going to have a field day seeing me like this.  I must look like shit.

I can’t remember getting to the bedroom earlier. I haven’t even undressed; I’m sprawled on the bed, shirt open, barefoot and mortified.

I can vaguely remember shaving a couple of days ago, but I certainly can’t remember a comb in my recent past. And, well I can’t recall the last time I slept either. Now passing out, _that_ , that I’m good at.

Yep, Malfoy is going to have a field day.

____________________________________________________________________ 

  
My imagination is having a field day.

I can’t breathe.

This is _not_ what I was expecting.

It’s been one year, four days, seven hours, thirty three minutes and six seconds since I last saw Ron Weasley, and this is not what I expected.

I wouldn’t have come, not to this. _This_ I can’t trust myself with.

Oh, hell.

Note to self: if one ever comes across Hermione Granger again, then kill her on the spot or at the very least gouge out her eyes.  What the fuck does the ginger bastard think he’s doing, looking like this?

Yep, my imagination is definitely having a field day. With bunting. And hotdogs. And quite possibly a bouncy castle.

_____________________________________________________________________ 

I watch Malfoy’s fascinated scrutiny and feel myself reddening with shame.

Merlin, he must be disgusted.

And smug. At last the obnoxious git has finally succeeded in seeing me at my very worst. Malfoy probably thinks all his Christmases have come at once.

_Bastard._

____________________________________________________________________ 

Oh Merlin, it’s like all my Christmases have come at once.

I force my mouth shut.

Okay, so yes.  After Granger’s little pep talk, I was definitely expecting something...well, a little more wasted.  A little more faded perhaps.  
Certainly, something a lot less appealing...something more broken.

That Weasley isn’t, leaves me shaken.

And relieved.

Maybe, just maybe…

_____________________________________________________________________ 

Sitting up, I run a shaky hand through my unruly hair, then, looking away from Malfoy, I move to the edge of the bed and start to button my shirt.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Ferret?" I ask, scowling over at the annoying prat.

"Charming as always, Weasel." Malfoy glares back. "Actually I came to see if it was true. And apparently it is - you really are a coward. So much for Gryffindor bravery!"

I scowl deeper. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

" _You,_ Weasley." Malfoy shakes his head disgustedly. "So pathetic! Lose one person and you crumble. One touch of grief and you give up. What’s up, Ron? Real feelings too much for you? Shall I go and get a bottle to make all those nasty feelings go away?"

"Fuck you, Malfoy!" Merlin, I want to punch his smug face so much.

Malfoy smirks in response. "Truth hurt, Weasel? Oh, that’s right, you don’t handle things that hurt well, do you? Want me to kiss and make it better?"

"I’d rather kiss a basilisk!" I spit back.

"That could be arranged!"

That surprises a laugh out of me. "Same old Malfoy, making ridiculous threats.” I shake my head and stand up. “Piss off, you scrawny git."

I’m bored with this stupid conversation and I can’t stand to look at his arrogant face another second. I walk into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me.

Looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror makes me grimace.

Yep, I look as bad as I thought.

I start to brush my teeth.

I must be hallucinating, that’s it. Draco Malfoy is not standing in my bedroom waiting to insult me some more. No, it’s a sleep deprived, alcohol induced illusion.

Thank Merlin for that.

"Shit!"

My toothbrush drops into the sink. _Someone_ has just kicked the door very hard.

"Get out here, you bastard! I haven’t finished with you yet!"

Fuck, that’s one freaking loud hallucination!

I quickly lock the door, turn on the shower, strip and step in, turning up the heat as hot as I can stand it.

Malfoy will soon get fed up and be gone by the time I’m done.

Half an hour later, and with no further interruptions, I deem it safe to get out.

Running a towel through my dripping hair, I tie another around my waist and emerge from the bathroom. Re-entering my bedroom, my jaw drops in shock and dismay.

Malfoy is lying across my bed, head propped up on one hand, glaring at me.

_____________________________________________________________________ 

My jaw drops in shock and...well, other things.

Bloody hell.

Towel.

Hips.

Skin.

Wet.

"Oh, stop staring, Malfoy. I know I disgust you. Get over it." Weasley sneers at me.

I shake my head.

Disgust. Yes, right - that’s it. Focus on disgust - disgust is good (close mouth, do not drool - do not drool).

Weasley stomps to the wardrobe and pulls out a clean shirt. He stomps back into the bathroom, giving me a narrow-eyed suspicious look as he passes the bed.

I try to gather my wits. Both of them.

Shit, what the fuck am I doing here? I shouldn’t have come. I’m _so_ going to kill Granger. Right, I need to concentrate. Focus.

Weasley walks back into the room clad in the shirt and the jeans from earlier.

Erm, I didn’t see him take any underwear in there - does that mean...?

Focus, Draco.

I am!

Not on THAT!

"Aaah!" I sit up abruptly, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.

Weasley shoots me his patented _confused and not likely to figure it out by myself_ look.

"Are you feeling okay, Malfoy?" he asks warily.

"I’m feeling fine. Thank you for asking, you useless prat!" I force a smirk I’m not really feeling.

Ah, now _that_ look I can work with.

"Why you arrogant little shit!” Weasley’s face reddens beautifully. “Why don’t you just crawl back under your usual rock?"

I smile pleasantly. "I’ve missed you too, Ronald."

"Aaah!" Weasley brushes both hands through his hair in obvious exasperation and then stomps – he’s really getting good at that - out of the room.

I follow and find him sitting in the kitchen, an open bottle and a mug in front of him. As I walk in, Weasley lifts the mug to his lips and looks away.

"Sorry, Weasley, am I interrupting your pity fest?" I ask scathingly.

In reality I’m appalled. Appalled and saddened to see the truth of Granger’s words

_____________________________________________________________________ 

"Drop dead, Malfoy!"

I’m torn between shame and anger. How dare Malfoy see me like this. How dare he.

Malfoy moves to the table and sits in the vacant chair. "I would,” he sneers at me. “But it’s pretty clear that you don’t handle death well."

"Oh, I think I could handle your sudden demise fairly well." I glare at the man opposite.

"Of course, another excuse to open a celebratory bottle. But then you don’t need an excuse anymore do you?" Malfoy smiles maliciously.

Bastard.  How could he know that?  When I’ve barely admitted it to myself?

"Don’t you dare judge me, Malfoy. You know nothing about me." How could the Ferret know anything about me?

Malfoy raises his eyebrows. "What’s to know, Weasley? Here it is coming up to 8pm and you’ve been awake for what? All of two hours...tell me, have you always been such an early riser?"

I can’t stop myself colouring at that.  But I'll be damned if I'm going to let the little shit know he got to me.

"Actually, Ferret, no. Normally I would still be sleeping peacefully, but some obnoxious little shit decided to barge in uninvited, and unwanted, and wake me up. So if you could just sod off, then I can get on with my day. I’m working to a very tight schedule here - I’m due to be shit-faced by 10pm."

There’s no point in pretending.

"Good to see your life has purpose."

I’m through arguing. I just shake my head and carry on drinking.

_____________________________________________________________________ 

"Why, Weasley?" I ask suddenly. I wasn’t going to ask that but now I can’t stop myself. I have to know. 

"Just tell me why? Was Potter really that important to you?" I’m sure my voice sounds pleading now but I don’t care. I have to know.

Weasley scowls at me - the _old_ Weasley scowl. And I feel a familiar warmth spark inside me. Whatever frozen place Weasley has put himself I _am_ going to find him.

"Okay stupid question." I smile wistfully (wistfully! Merlin help me). Shaking my head I continue, "Believe it or not, Weasley, I do have some idea of how close you two were." It left me broken sometimes.

Weasley looks up again, but this time the scowl is gone, replaced by a look of weary despair.

"You have no idea." He says sounding lost.

Oh, I do. I do, Weasley.

"Then tell me." I reply closing my eyes momentarily. "Tell someone who has only ever known your _hate_ , what it was to know your _love_."

I didn’t mean to say that; didn’t mean to reveal so much. But the other man hasn’t really heard. Lost in his own thoughts Weasley seems oblivious to all but the words.

"I don’t hate you, Malfoy. I never did."

For a moment I don’t dare breathe.

"Hate would require more of my energy than I’m willing to expend on you. You irritated," Weasley pauses to look up at me, "you _irritate_ me, no more, no less. Now please just go. Leave me alone."

I feel ridiculous.  Oh, good grief, stop it. Stop being such an idiot. Fuck this.  I can’t believe it - my father would be revolving in his grave - I actually feel...tearful.

Fuck.

And then, because my life really sucks, like a great big sucky thing that, really, really sucks, my subconscious decides to offer its opinion (this never ends well).

You stupid little prat, it tells me, he’s saying he _doesn’t_ hate you. This is a good thing.

No, I argue back, he doesn’t think I’m worth the effort, worth anything. He doesn’t think of me at all.

Oh Draco, it responds, much as it pains me to admit - consider the source - but this actually isn’t about you. Now can we please focus on why we’re here?

I sigh and somehow resist punching myself in the face. Taking a deep breath I force my attention back to the matter in hand.

"No, Weasel,” I say. “I don’t think I’m going anywhere. Face it, I’m _not_ leaving. So talk to me or don’t talk to me but I am not leaving." I make sure my voice is adamant.

Weasley looks up, perplexed. "I don’t get it, Malfoy. Why?"

I shrug. "Call it Slytherin curiosity.” I reply. “I just have to know, I need to know. Why you’re doing this to yourself. Tell me, Weasley, tell me about Potter." It’s the last thing I want to know. But I need to know it anyway.

Weasley’s head snaps up and he glares at me. "You don’t get it do you? Harry was the only thing - only thing--" he pauses, biting his lip. Then, seeming to reach a decision, he takes a hasty breath and continues, "the only thing that was ever wholly mine - not a cast-off, not a hand-me-down. I never had anything that was new before - clothes, toys, friends, they were always second-hand, always someone else’s before they were mine. Always destined for someone else after me."

He pauses again and smiles wryly. "You soon learn not to get attached. I suppose the twins did me a favour when they turned my teddy into a spider. At least then, I wasn’t quite so reluctant to hand it over to Ginny."

He turns and looks at me. "You always taunted me about being poor in school but I didn’t really care." He grins for a moment. "Well, of course I did - you probably still have the scars - but not in the way you thought."

Weasley shrugs and continues. "Sure, I was embarrassed by the tatty books and worn robes, but it didn’t make me want things just for wantings sake. Does that make sense?"

He doesn’t wait for an answer. "I never needed _things_ , Malfoy. I only needed Harry. He was the one thing _ever_ in my life that was mine - first, last, always. Mine. Not Percy’s, not George and Fred’s, not Ginny’s."

Weasley laughs suddenly, surprising me (I’d been a little distracted by my own urge to hug the demented bugger. It goes without saying, that I’m glad of the distraction).

"Did you know," he carries on and I’m blessedly pulled back to what he is saying, "that Ginny had a crush on Harry? I told him it was a bit annoying. In truth it was awful. Just awful. Once again I thought I was going to lose my --"

"Cuddly toy?" I interject with a raised eyebrow.

Weasley smiles sadly. "Yeah, okay, cuddly toy."

I want...well, more things than I’m allowed. So, I settle for listening.

"I thought I was going to lose him to my little sister. But it didn’t happen. Do you have any idea how that felt, Malfoy?" Weasley's eyes are shining unnaturally bright now. "Finally, _finally_ out of all those Weasleys, Harry had chosen _me_ \- insignificant, last in line, hand-me-down Ron. Finally, I was _first_ with someone."

He shrugs looking awkward, probably embarrassed to be admitting this to _me_ of all people.

"What can I say? I was an insecure little prick." He chuckles, "Merlin, Malfoy, if you’d picked me back then I would have died for you too."

Oblivious to my flinch, he continues. "As it was, by the end of that train journey, my life was Harry’s."

I can’t speak, can’t move, can’t breathe.

I could have had him.

With a handful of words, an outstretched hand...I could have had _him_.

Weasley pauses, tears glistening in his eyes. Then suddenly, he grins and turns to look at me. "I said earlier that I never really hated you. That wasn’t quite true." His voice is quiet and serious, "There was one moment when I hated you beyond reason or sanity. And I swear had I known how, I would have cursed you into hell."

Well, you vindictive little bastard, whatever happened to Gryffindor honour?  I can’t believe how much it hurts to know that he ever hated me that much, touchy, little bastard _._ And I hate myself for being so weak. Malfoys revel in the hate of others. It’s what we live for. So why do I feel so shattered?

Earlier, I’d been appalled at the Weasel’s indifference, but this, this is worse. The venom in Weasley's voice scares me, and I don’t doubt the words themselves for a moment.  I try to think what I could have done to elicit such vitriole. Mudblood? Eat slugs? Weasley is our king?

I look at Weasley questioningly.  "When..." I begin.

"Our first meeting."

"Oh well," I splutter indignantly. "as long as you took your time to form a proper, considered judgement of me."

Weasley just shakes his head and looks away. "That was the worst --" his voice drops to barely a whisper, "well, for a long time that was the worst moment of my life. I’d never felt so endangered."

I snort. "Oh come off it, Weasley."

The other man looks up in surprise at my outburst.

I continue. "I may have liked to think I was intimidating back then, but we both know I was a pouting midget, with all the righteous fury of a gnat."

Weasley raises both eyebrows at that admission.

"Don’t look so surprised. I’ve never been delusional. And you can take that smug look off your face too. After all, you were a scrawny, ginger, little snot, and as about intimidating as an ameoba."

Weasley smiles and ducks his head.

"But anyway," I prompt, trying to ignore how fucking adorable the stupid bastard looks, "back to me. What did I do to make little Ronniekins so mad?"

Weasley shakes his head. "So, you want to know, Malfoy? Want to know, what it was that made me want to obliterate you. To wipe you clean from the face of the earth. To leave not even a greasy spot where you once were?"

I grimace, Merlin, I must have done something fucking horrendous.

"You spoke to him."

My head shoots up at that. I look at Weasley, my mouth hanging open in shock. But the other man isn’t looking; he’s staring out of the window, lost in the past.

"You spoke to him and tried to take away the one thing that had ever been mine. In those few minutes you tried to destroy me." He turns to look at me again. "Oh, Malfoy, it was beyond hate what I felt. The way you sneered, looking down at me with such disgust. Telling him how some families were better than others."

I can’t help feeling a sudden surge of pride for my younger self. I really had been a right little bastard, hadn't I?

"I can still remember the pain, the panic." Weasley continues softly. "Not at your stupid insults, but the fear. It was suffocating and made me want to vomit. The fear that you would take him from me. Like everything had always been taken from me. Harry would realise that he’d made a social blunder and associated himself with the wrong sort." He lowers his eyes to the floor. "Merlin, when you held out your hand to him I swear my heart stopped. And only started again when he told you to sod off."

"He did not!" I protest indignantly.

"Yeah, he did." Weasley grins. "He just did it very politely." He smiles sadly, "Harry was always very polite."

"You looked so sad."

Weasley looks back up at me looking confused. "Sad? When?"

"When I said those things,” I explain. “About your red hair and too many children. I remember thinking even then, that your eyes were the saddest thing I’d ever seen. It confused me. How could a few, rather weak, insults make you look so hurt, so shattered?"

"Well, now you know." Weasley runs his hands roughly through his hair leaving it standing up at odd angles. He shakes his head. "I need another drink."

He walks back to the table and pours the last of the bottle into his mug, throwing the empty bottle in the bin in the far corner with practised ease. He shrugs at my raised eyebrows, picks up his mug and walks into the living room.

I stand alone thinking over what he’s said. It’s all so...awful. On so many levels.

Leave, my head screams at me. Leave now, while you still can. Just walk away. He’s a mess.

Yes, I whisper back, but he’s _my_ mess.

And I walk into the other room.

~~~

Weasley is sitting on the sofa and looks up as I walk in. "So, Malfoy. Why are you here? I never took you for one to take on reclamation projects?"

I try to keep my features impassive. Truth is, I’ve been asking myself that too, and I still haven’t come up with any answer that I’m comfortable admitting.

"Well, I’d already lost Potter," I finally say, "and I was damned if I was going to lose my Weasel too."

Bloody hell, did I really just call Weasley _mine_? Oh, please say it came out sounding contemptuous and filled with loathing and not - oh nausea - affection. Just to make sure, I throw everything I can into a last minute sneer. But my heart isn’t in it. 

Luckily, Weasley isn’t paying attention as he stands and walks towards the window, stopping to gaze out.

"You lost Harry?  You never had him to lose, Malfoy." His voice is soft, which surprises me. I’d expected an angry retort, or at the very least, a scornful snarl. This is Weasley after all. Maybe I’m losing my touch? At least he seems to have missed my slip too.

Weasley’s head suddenly snaps around.

Oh oh.

"Malfoy, did you just call me _your_ Weasel?"

Erm.

"Merlin, could you be anymore insulting?"

Huh?

"You make me sound like a pet."

Ah.

"Well, what can I say, Weasel?" I cover my relief with a grin. "You do rather remind me of some of the pets I had when I was a kid. Unfortunately, Lucius had to ban me from having anymore when I was ten. It seems that the sound of their squeals used to upset my mother. A very highly strung woman, my mother."

"Figures," Weasley snorts. "You liked to torture your pets. _Now_ I see the resemblance _._ And how exactly are you planning to 'save me'?" Weasley genuinely looks curious.

Receiving no immediate answer – cos, seriously, I’m fucked if I know the answer to that one - he continues. "Or did you think you could just waltz in, order me to pull myself together and I would be so overawed by your magnificent presence, that I would pick myself up off the floor, shower, go out, get a job, find a nice girl and settle down to have 2.4 children?" He looks amused now.

"Oh, Merlin, no." I cringe. What an awful thought. Well, apart from my magnificent presence, Weasley on the floor and the shower thing. I shake my head trying to clear it; I’m beginning to get a headache.  Oh, to hell with it all.  Maybe, it’s time for the truth.

"Listen, Weasel,” I say. “This is how it happened. I ran into that filthy Mud-- Granger and for some reason beyond me she seemed to think I might want to know how you were doing. Well, suffice it to say _she_ doesn’t think you’re _doing_ at all."

I could tell by Weasley's face that this particular piece of information has come as no surprise to him. Good. I like it a whole lot better when my Weasel and the Mudblood don't get on.

Feeling slightly smug, I continue. "By the time she’d finished, I was so angry with you, that I Apparated outside your front door, with no other thought in my head, than to kick your arse and yell a lot."

I snort quietly while shaking my head. "No, I don’t know why. I don’t know why it made me so angry to know that you were drowning your life away. And all because St Potter had finally succeeded in getting himself killed. Merlin knows, he’d been trying for long enough - _Boy Who Lived_ my arse! More like _Boy With A Blatant Death Wish And All Round Martyr Complex Who In Spite Of Everything Still Lived Long Enough To Blight My Existence And Make Himself An All Round Pain In My A--_ ”

Seeing Weasley’s angry glare I stop abruptly.

"Sorry," I mumble insincerely.

Fuck, did I really just apologise? To a Weasley? And for insulting Potter of all things? Well it’s official – I’ve lost my mind. Cheers Weasel. Although, in fairness he may have a valid point - it really isn’t as catchy as _Boy Who Lived_.

It’s going to be a long night. 

I let out a loud sigh, before settling back into my seat more comfortably. "I know it’s probably a very tactless thing to ask under the circumstances - but do you have such a thing as a whiskey in the house, Weasel? I could murder a drink."

Weasley cracks up. "Malfoy," he gasps, trying to control his laughter. "Please, don’t ever take up counselling, I don’t think you’re cut out for it!"

As he leaves the room to find the whiskey, I stare after him and whisper to myself, "Truth is…I didn’t like the idea of the world without you in it."

Then I follow him out.

~~~

This really isn’t going how I planned it.

I pick myself up off the floor.

Where is Weasley?

I try to remember.  Oh, that’s right. I asked the _drunk_ , who I was there to save, if he had anything to _drink._ Merlin, I am really, _really_ bad at this.

So, where is Weasley?

Struggling to focus, I look at my watch. Fuck. 3.15am. What a shitty time to wake up.

And where the fuck is Weasley?!

Well, let’s see - it’s 3.15 in the morning, where would most people be, you cretin? (Oh charming, now I’m getting offensive with myself). I should go and check on Weasley.  
I stumble down the hallway and into the bedroom where I find Weasley sleeping peacefully.

Bastard! Left me lying on the fucking floor and takes himself off to a nice, comfy bed. Bastard git!

I’m not a nice drunk (actually I’m not a nice _sober_ ).

Bastard git face git!

I’m also a spectacularly inarticulate drunk.  

I walk over to the bed looking down at the sleeping man.  He looks so bloody adorable (Merlin, how I hate myself). Curled around his pillow, hair all mussed - aah fuck it - want to be the pillow. Fucking bastard pillow! Okay great, add pillow-abuse to my list of crimes.

I notice a flicker under closed eyelids.  He’s dreaming. Sweet dreams, Weasley. Ahhh. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Did not think that. Did not think that.  Am not turning into a sentimental tosspot.

What was that? He’s murmuring something.

I move closer trying to catch the words.

"Harry, shut up, Harry." A smile twitches at Weasley’s lips. Unconsciously, I smile in response. In dreams it seems Weasley can be what he once was. Then, all at once the smile fades.

"Don’t go - please, Harry - don’t go." Arms reach out as his tears tumble in sleep.

Fuck, he can’t even get any peace in sleep. Damn you, Potter. Leave him alone.

And I climb into the bed, take Weasley into my arms, stroke his hair and gently rock him back to sleep.

Bastard git face git Potter.

 


	2. Chapter 2

I awake suddenly, eyes wide in shock.

Shit, what a dream.

Dream? Who am I trying to kid? What a freaking nightmare! Malfoy! Here! Geeze, as if my life isn’t bad enough.

Turning, I look at the clock. 9.30am.

What the fuck is going on? I haven't woken up this early for months. But at least it isn’t as bad as yesterday's awakening. It couldn’t possibly be because yesterday some bastard decided to wake me up by breaking into my house, shouting abuse at me and…

For a moment, I’m panic-stricken, as cold realisation dawns.  Oh Merlin, it wasn’t a nightmare was it? That bastard _had_ been here. Oh hell, what if he’s _still_ here?

Getting up from the bed, I notice with a grimace, that once again I’ve slept in my clothes.  Shaking my head I leave the room. Walking around the house I’m on high alert for any sign of Malfoy. But it looks like he’s definitely gone and I’m alone. Again. And I’m not disappointed.  No, definitely not.

I’m relieved. That’s what that sick feeling is. Relief. The Ferret is gone and I can go back to - well, what passes for my life.

I enter the kitchen and sit down at the table, placing my head carefully onto the cold surface.

_Why am I up?_

Half an hour later, I jerk awake. Lifting my head groggily from the table, I realise something is stuck to the side of my face. I remove it. Then, sit staring at it in my hand.

Paper. Folded paper. Okay, so who stole my brain in the night?

 _Open_ paper, Ron.

It’s a note.

 _Please take a shower_.

Bloody cheek!

 _Back at 1pm_.

You have got to be kidding!

_P.S. Keep the stubble. M_

Bloody hell, he’s coming back! And why did he want me to keep the stubble?

Fucking maniac.

The first thing I do is shave.

~~~

By 11am, I’m pacing from room to room and freaking out.

I can’t even take a drink to steady my shattered nerves. No, I’ll need a clear head to deal with that git. And I’ll be fucked if I give the evil Slytherin bastard the satisfaction of seeing me like that again.

Malfoy! Draco Malfoy is coming back here in two hours. But why? Surely he had his fun yesterday. Seen me at my worst, traded insults, had his _Weasley is a pathetic loser_ fix. So why is he coming back? Why, why, why?

Okay, I need to stop panicking, there’s a perfectly rational explanation for this.

What had ferret-features said? He’d bumped into Hermione. Hermione right! She must know something, and even if she didn't, I could yell at her for telling Malfoy about me (because really, what was she thinking?).

~~~

"Hermione what were you thinking?!"

Hermione had responded immediately to my floo’d request to get her arse over here and explain herself. I suppose I should have been grateful for her quick response but I was too angry for such niceties.

"I mean, really. Of all people. Malfoy! Why Hermione? Why me? Have you been sniffing chemicals or what? I mean it’s Malfoy! Draco bleeding Malfoy! Hater of all things Weasley and this Weasley in particular. Just what were you thinking?"

I stop to breathe, and Hermione seeing her chance jumps in.

"Oh, Ron," she shakes her head slowly, "you were always so dense…"

"Oh, thank you, so bloody much!" I shout back, deeply offended.

"Ron,” she says placating. “Let me finish. You _are_ one of the brightest people I know."

I feel slightly mollified by this.

This is short lived.

"You are also, one of the densest… in certain areas." She smirks at my look of ire.

" _What_ areas?" I demand testily.

Hermione smirks wider. "Okay, Ron, at what point did you realise that Luna Lovegood was infatuated with you?"

I feel myself redden and my mouth falls open in shock.

"Luna _liked_ me?" I yelp.

Hermione snorts with laughter. It is a good few minutes before she can compose herself enough to continue. All the while I sit glowering at her.

"Okay, very funny!" I snap, when she can finally sit upright. "So, I missed one little thing. What has that got to do with Malfoy?"

Wiping the tears from her face she continues. "Just one little thing, huh? So, tell me then, how did you handle the crush Seamus had on you?"

I gape.

Hermione bites her lip. 

Suddenly, she sobers and looks serious.

"And Ron, when did you realise I’m in love with you, but you’d never be able to return my feelings?"

I look up. She is still smiling, but there is sadness there too.

"Oh, Hermione…" I begin.

"It’s okay, Ron." She smiles sadly. "I knew. Eventually. I guess, it did take a while for me to give up on you entirely. But I did know."

I look back down at the carpet. "I knew too. Well I - I thought I did. Maybe I was wrong, but I thought in third year that maybe we liked each other. And I wasn’t completely adverse to the idea."

I look up and smile at her. "But I was confused, because of the other feelings…" I trail off, not really knowing how to continue.

"It’s okay, Ron, I knew." She smiles, reassuringly this time. "Actually," She’s grinning now. "I think I knew before you did."

I walk over to her and pull her into a hug. "I love you so much, Hermione." I say gently into her hair. "Thanks for not giving up on me."

"Oh, Ron." She sighs softly and presses her face into my neck.

Just then, there is a loud _crack_ and Draco Malfoy Apparates into the room.

_____________________________________________________________________ 

I feel sick, cheated. Bastard Mudblood! You and Potter can both just fuck off.

"Am I interrupting something?" I sneer, casting a disparaging look at the entwined couple. "Would you like me to leave you two alone?" I continue caustically. 

Get your fucking hands off him, bitch.

Granger looks up and has the unmitigated gall to smile. "Easy, Draco, it’s just a hug. I’m leaving, and then he’s all yours…" She raises an eyebrow at me in a disturbingly familiar manner. Then, with a very knowing look on her face, she leans up and kisses Weasley on the cheek.

So the bitch knows. Fine, as long as she disentangles herself from MY Weasel.

"Ta ta, Granger!" I snap, glaring at her.

_____________________________________________________________________ 

I take Hermione by the elbow and lead her into the hallway. "Hermione, don’t go. Please don’t leave me alone with the Ferret." I plead.

Hermione grins up at me. "Ron, I guarantee the day will come, when being left alone with Malfoy won’t be so bad."

I just feel more confused by that but she makes no attempt to explain herself, just hugs me and then moves to leave.

"Wait." I stop her with a hand on her arm. "Hermione, what you said earlier…" I pause, feeling awkward. "What has that got to do with Malfoy being here now?"

"Oh, Ron." Hermione smiles fondly at me. Reaching up, she brushes my fringe out of my eyes. "So very dense." And with that, she leans forward, kisses my cheek again and Disapparates.

Feeling more lost than ever, I walk warily back towards the living room. I peek in through the doorway. Yep, Malfoy is still there. Oh great. I sigh resignedly and walk into the room.

"Afternoon, Weasley. Sleep well?" The blond git smirks at me.

I scowl in response. "Malfoy, why are you--" I start to say but Malfoy interrupts me.

"Oh please, Weasel, not that again!" He sits down on the sofa and sighs. After a short, uncomfortable silence, he looks up with that irritating smirk back on his face.

"You know, Ronald, you’re a terrible host. Aren’t you going to offer to make me a cup of tea?"

I smirk back. "You know, Malfoy, you’re a terrible guest. Aren’t you going to wait to be invited, before you bloody well turn up?"

Malfoy looks as though he’s considering that carefully and then looks back at me. "No, I don’t think so. It could be a very long wait. Now do be a dear and fetch that tea - milk, no sugar."

Resigned to his presence, I simply shake my head, and leave the room in search of teabags.

~~~

Half an hour later, Malfoy is on his second cup of tea and wandering around the living room, frowning at everything he comes across.

I, meanwhile, am trying very hard not to throttle him.

After a particularly scathing attack on the age, condition and value of my furniture, I am seriously considering introducing the bastard to the age, condition and value of my front window, when he suddenly changes the subject.

"So, what was the delightful Ms Granger doing here? Checking to see if we’d killed each other yet?"

I don’t know what to say to that. I really don’t want to have to admit that the stupid git had unsettled me so much the previous day, that I'd felt compelled to call in reinforcements.

"Er, she just popped in for - er - for -" my eyes land on Malfoy’s cup, "a cup of tea. Yeah, that’s right - a cup of tea and a chat." Let’s see you read anything sinister into that, you prat.

"So, what you really mean is you floo’d her and told her to get her arse over here sharpish and explain exactly why she had spoken to me. Oh yes, and that awful Ferret is coming back soon, and you didn’t know what to do about it."  Malfoy raises his eyebrows questioningly. "Close?"

I blush and lower my head. "Close enough."

He shakes his head and looks away. "Honestly, Weasel, you are so bloody predictable. So tell me, what did she have to say for herself then? What possible reason could she have given you for entrusting your dirty, little secret to your worst enemy? Never mind the fact that she positively egged me on to come over here and kick your arse."

I scowl darkly. What dirty, little secret? I’ve never tried to hide anything about my life from anyone, because frankly I really didn’t give a shit. And Hermione had _encouraged_ Malfoy to come here and give me a hard time? Well, she had certainly kept that part quiet.

"Ahem, still waiting, Weaselbee."

I scowl deeper. It’s just occurred to me, that Hermione hadn’t actually told me why the annoying bastard is here, or what I could do to get rid of him. Some friend!

The sound of shattering china and a drop of cold tea hitting me in the eye, interrupt my thoughts at this point. What the fuck?

Tea drips down the wall onto the broken cup.

Looking up at a smug faced Malfoy, I realise that the bastard has thrown his - not quite empty - cup at the wall. I glare over at him. "Malfoy, you git, what do you think you’re doing?"

Malfoy shrugs casually. "Trying to get your attention, you lame brained tosser. I asked you a question and I expected an answer sometime this side of Christmas."

I walk over to the abused wall and began to pick up the broken bits. "You are one violent little prick, you know that? Anyone else would have cleared their throat, or said "excuse me" or maybe "penny for your thoughts, Ron". But oh no, not you. No, the great god Malfoy has to throw a hissy fit - not to mention my best china - and take it out on my wall."

"Your head actually." Malfoy grins.

This halts my tirade and I look up in confusion. "Excuse me? What has my head got to do with anything?"

"I was aiming for _it_ , not the wall. Sadly," he continues, looking far from sad. "You’re cretinous behaviour has upset my usual equilibrium, hence the miss. In normal circumstances, I would have hit you right between the eyes." he smiles smugly.

"Aaah!" I pick up the closest piece of crockery and throw it at the wall once again, where it shatters into tiny fragments. Malfoy is just so fucking frustrating!

_____________________________________________________________________ 

I shake my head sadly. "Really now, Weasel, is that any way to behave in front of guests?"

The fury lighting Weasley’s eyes while quite magnificent in one sense, also tells me that I may have gone too far. In a sudden fit of self-preservation I take out my wand and point it at the mess. A hasty _Scurgify_ and a skilful flourish of my wand and all is mended.

"There, all clean again!" I frown at Weasley. "That isn’t really your best china is it?" I shudder for effect. Before Weasley can reply I continue, "Now, where were we? Oh yes, the delightful Ms Granger and your little talk. I’m curious to know her insights as to why I’m here ‘cos lord knows I don’t fucking know."

Weasley sits down in the nearest chair and sighs. He has the air of a man resigned to his fate.

"Well, that’s the strange thing. She didn’t say."

"You mean to tell me," I stand up in frustration, "that you got her over here, purely to find out why she’d spoken to me, and you actually let her leave without telling you. Merlin, Weasley, what kind of a dolt are you?"

Weasley frowns. "Listen Malfoy," he snaps. "I was distracted by what she did say. It was - well, unexpected and it threw me. Then, you turned up. So really," he looks up triumphantly. "It’s all _your_ fault!"

I shake my head slowly. "Pathetic, Weasley. Truly, pathetic."

"Oh fuck off, Ferret!"

"No, I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly." I reply calmly, before sitting back down with a smug grin. "Not until I hear what these _unexpected_ revelations were that left you so confounded. You've piqued my interest now and I must have answers."

I try to sound nonchalant but in reality I’m squirming. Fuck what had that little Mudblood bitch said.

It must have been fairly dramatic. I knew from bitter experience - certain parts of my body still ache in cold weather - that when the Weasel is pissed off with you, he isn’t easily distracted from the task at hand. No, it must have been something pretty impressive and I’m terrified that it might have involved me and… feelings. _Eeew._

Weasley shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

Oh Merlin! He looks embarrassed. Why? Why would he be embarrassed? Oh shit…please no…she didn’t…

"Well, it’s a bit embarrassing really…" Weasley’s ears have turned pink.

No shit, Ron.

"Erm, I don’t really know what it’s got to do with - er - our current situation, but well, she talked about certain - um - circumstances in school…" his voice trails off.

"Oh, for fucks sake, Weasley!" I’m on my feet again. "Just spit it out!"

Weasley ducks his head and blushes.

Fuck! Not good (very cute, but definitely not good).

Taking a deep breath, Weasley looks up at me and says in a rush. "She said Luna Lovegood liked me and Seamus had a crush on me!" He turns away looking mortified. "Crazy huh?”

"Oh, Weasley don’t tell me you didn’t know?" I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Well, my secret’s safe. Talk about dense!

Weasley looks decidedly piqued. Clearly, this is not the reaction he is expecting.

"Oh, and I suppose you did, Ferret?"

I can’t hide my amusement now. "Me, the whole student body, the entire faculty _and_ the giant squid."

Can anyone really be this naïve? I’m torn between wanting to snog Weasley senseless and bludgeon him to death with a blunt instrument (perhaps, I could use Weasley’s intuition - Merlin knows, I’d be hard pressed to find anything blunter).

"By Merlin, Weaselbee, you are _so_ dense!"

"Hey," Weasley jumps to his feet in indignation. "Hermione said that too!"

I shrug. "Perhaps, Granger and I have more in common than we thought." You wouldn’t believe how much, Weasel.

Weasley has walked over to the window, once again lost in thought. He stands gazing out, biting his bottom lip.

Damn, what now?

"What else, Weasley?" I’m definitely worried again.

The other man shakes his head slowly but doesn’t speak.

"Come on, Weasley. She obviously said something else that’s bothering you. What?" I swear Granger, if you’ve told him, I am so going to murder you. Slowly. Over the course of several weeks.

Weasley turns slowly but still doesn’t look up. Eyes trained on the carpet he mumbles, "She did say something else. And I’ve just realised…" his voice trails off. Walking over to the sofa, he sits down with a soft sigh.

Oh Merlin, no. He doesn’t know. He can’t know. That’s it, Granger! Once I’ve killed you, I’m going to bring you back, just so I can kill you again. Only slower this time.

Weasley is staring off into the distance. His voice is soft when he speaks. "She said, well asked really, when did I know she loved me?"

Oh. I’m chastened. I move to the sofa, sitting down next to the dazed redhead. Reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder, I speak quietly. "Oh, Weasley, don’t tell me you missed that one too?"

Weasley shakes his head. "No, it’s not that. I told Hermione I knew - hell, I felt the same."

My stomach lurches. Oh shit, no.

"No,” he says. “It’s not that. I’ve just realised that when she spoke about Luna, she said _was_ infatuated. And Seamus _had_ a crush. But, when she spoke about herself, she said _am_ in love. Shit Malfoy, what have I done?" And he drops his head into his hands.

I feel sick. Oh shit he loves Granger. He loves that - that - bushy-haired freak and he’s only just realised it. I take a deep breath, I need to calm down. I need to hear all of this (hell, I'm a masochistic little bastard).

I force myself to remain calm. " _Done_ , Weasley? What do you mean? You’ve already admitted that you weren’t entirely surprised by Granger’s declaration, so what’s wrong now?" I’m dreading the answer.

" _Hermione_ , Malfoy. Show some respect." Weasley looks up and the glare is back. "I told you I knew how she - _we_ \- felt back then. But things changed - I changed. I began to have other feelings…" he pauses, bowing his head in evident embarrassment as his face flushes red.

Oh, Weasley, didn’t we all?

"But she said _am_ not _was_." Weasley's voice is distraught now. "How could I hurt her so badly? And why would she ever feel that way about me? And _still_? Merlin, look at me - why would anyone?"

I shake my head in wonder. So bloody clueless.

Right, it’s time to get this straight once and for all. I take a deep breath. "So, am I to take it that you _don’t_ feel the same way about Gr- er Hermione anymore?"

Weasley leans forward and puts his head back in his hands. "Oh hell, I wish I could. But no, I don’t. Life would be so much easier for everyone if I could. But I hate that I’ve hurt her. That I'm still hurting her." With that, he stands up and walks from the room.

I watch him walk away.


	3. Chapter 3

"Merlin, what a child!"

Weasley glares at me, the old fire blazing in his eyes.

"Just try it, you cretin! You might actually like it. Or should I pour some alcohol into it? Maybe then, it will be more to your taste."

I deserve an award.

My voice positively drips with sarcasm and contempt. Add in the old lip curl, and Weasley would have to believe I still - ha! - hate him. Of course, anyone with a modicum of intelligence, would also ask why someone who purportedly hates them, is trying to feed them nourishing soup. Dense Weasley, very dense.

_____________________________________________________________________ 

I pick up the spoon and lift it cautiously to my lips. It actually smells good, and my stomach growls in anticipation. I’m just not sure I’ll be able to keep it down. And, I’m appalled at the thought of hurling in front of Malfoy. Afraid of what the other man might read into it.

I taste the spoonful warily. Not bad. Actually, quite good. But I’m still nervous. It’s just that I haven’t eaten at this time of the day for so long, and my stomach has become so…well, fussy. Food when the urge rises - usually around 3am when I’m wasted - but I can’t force anything upon it. Poor stomach. I’ve done a real number on it, haven’t I? And to think it used to be so compliant, day or night, it never let me down, always up for fun.

I sigh sadly; at least my drunken binges have prevented me from losing too much weight over the last few months. Some, I know. But I guess a Weasley stomach can never entirely give up hope.

"Oh, come on, Weasley!" Malfoy’s voice interrupts my reverie. "Eat! You’re far too skinny."

I gape. "Oh, yeah right, Ferret. Do the words _pot_ , _kettle_ , and _black_ mean anything to you?"

Malfoy snarls in response. "Excuse _me_ , Weasel, I am _not_ skinny, _I_ am lean."

I bow my head and mumble into my chest. "Yeah right, and is the sky pink in your world too?" Not bloody delusional, my arse.

_____________________________________________________________________ 

I pretend not to have heard and turn to hide the smile tugging at my lips. Truth is it does my heart - and other parts - good to hear Weasley sounding so like his old self.

"Just EAT!" I yell and leave the room trying not to grin.

_____________________________________________________________________ 

I snort soup through my nose. Not a good look. And very _not_ good for my sinuses. I just can’t help it. For one mad, very surreal moment there, I had a vision of Malfoy dressed in my mother’s apron, lecturing me about clearing my plate.

Oh Merlin, I snigger to myself, my mum’s turned into the Ferret! Or has the Ferret turned into my mum? Come to think of it I’ve never seen them in the same room at the same time...mmm...

And suddenly, I’m snorting again.

"Ronald!"

Shit _._ I sit up straight in my chair.

Malfoy reappears at the kitchen door. "I did not slave over a sweaty house-elf for two whole minutes, while they poured that soup into a container, for you to snort it out of your nose. Now either eat it or..."

Oh fuck, he’s actually going to ground me!

"Or I’ll kick your skinny Weasley arse all the way back to Hogwarts!"

Okay...so maybe, not entirely like mum.

Malfoy glares at me.

God, I miss mum.

~~~

I don’t get it. It’s been two weeks since Malfoy’s sudden reappearance in my life. And I still don’t know why.

Part of me wants to find out. While another, much bigger part, is more than happy to just bury my head in the sand. It’s an approach that has served me well throughout most of my life, and I’m not about to abandon it now.

Life, I tell myself, has just settled into a new pattern: Malfoy turns up at 1pm _precisely_ with food. He orders me to eat, then disappears into the other room to work. What work, I don’t know and don’t ask. Later, we play chess or read. At about 3.30pm - oh, who am I kidding - at _exactly_ 3.30pm (the bloke is so anal) Malfoy will call a halt to whatever we’re doing and announce that it’s nap time.

The first day this happened, I almost choked and then, recovering quickly, I’d told Malfoy to sod off. But the other man had been adamant and had brooked no argument, pointing out loudly, that I had been abusing my body for months and it now needed to recover. And apparently, this meant naps.

For a fleeting moment, I had really thought about floo’ing my mum – _with M_ alfoy in the room (Polyjuice might be complicated, but I had suddenly remembered that my mother had taken advanced potions at school). Of course, then common sense had kicked in, and I had realised I was being ridiculous. After all, if my mum was going to try something like that, then, why on earth would she choose to turn into Draco Malfoy of all people? Talk about transformation least likely to…!

That I had given in so easily to the ex-Slytherin that first day, I chose to ignore (burying it deep beneath the sand, where my head currently resided). I had simply muttered a "yes, mum," and trudged quietly to my room. And, when I’d been woken gently, a couple of hours later, feeling slightly groggy, but more relaxed than I had for a long time, I'd even had the good grace to thank the blond bastard. Whether it was for waking me, feeding me, pretending to be my mum, or for just being there, I didn’t know myself.

Now, I’ve stopped asking why Malfoy’s here. Have stopped thinking about it. I only know I’m glad. Finally, I have the help I’ve long needed and been too ashamed to ask for. That it’s from my old nemesis…well…let’s not go there. I know there’ll be a reckoning; know I’ll have to face it eventually. But for now, I’m employing a pretty damn good blocking mechanism. Well, most of the time…

Sometimes, usually on waking from my nap, when my defences are low, the questions will start up in my head again. Why will I allow Malfoy to do this, and not Hermione, or my family? Why am I accepting _his_ help, when I accept no other? But then, I will feel my brain starting to melt out of my ears and will stop. Stop asking. Stop listening. Why I take it. Why I tolerate Malfoy. Why I’ve accepted Malfoy into my life. For Merlin knows that way madness lies. And I will go and stick my head in a sink of ice cold water to teach my brain exactly what happens to nosy bastards who won’t shut the fuck up.

~~~

Of course, it isn’t all cosy afternoons and naps. We argue all the time. Well, it _is_ Malfoy…

"Malfoy, this is _my_ house and I don’t actually recall inviting you into it. So, if you can just fuck off, that will be peachy, and then maybe I can get on with my life in peace."

"Oh sure, Weasley. I’ll leave. And hey, you can open another bottle to celebrate. Fucking loser!"

"And yet, you’re still here, Ferret?"

"Get used to it, Ronald, I’m not going anywhere."

~~~

And, though I would rather face an army of Death Eaters than admit it, even that feels good.  It makes me feel alive again, and I haven’t felt that for the longest time.

Suddenly, it seems as if I have my old life back. And with it, Harry.

Having Malfoy around, inevitably awakes memories. Of arguments long past. Childish name calling and scuffles in hallways. Of bouncing ferrets and vomiting slugs. Battles with Death Eaters in rooms full of mysteries. Inquisitorial squads and prefect badges. And there, at the centre of them all is Harry. _My_ Harry.

And finally, slowly, painful in itself, the grief begins to lessen. As the warmth of those memories finds its way inside, something begins to give. I stop dreading the dreams and thoughts, and begin to welcome them. And gradually against my will, I began to realise that I have Malfoy to thank for it.

Malfoy has given me back my Harry, whole again. Malfoy…

~~~

I think back to that first night.

We’d drank, talking little, until Malfoy had finally drifted into sleep on the sofa. I had sat staring at him for some time, trying to figure out why he had come back into my life. But then my head had started to hurt, and I had struggled to my bed.

That’s all I remember until the note. Well, not quite all. There is the usual dream. Although it had been different that night.

It had started as they all did - a memory of Hogwarts. Our first broom lesson this time. A good memory. Laughing with Harry, as my friend laughed at me. I could almost feel the pain of the broomstick hitting me in the face all over again.

Then, as always it had shifted. Knowing Harry shouldn’t be there, not anymore. That he was gone, and couldn’t come back, not even in dreams. And with the thought, came the reality, and Harry began to fade, to leave me again. I had started to reach out, to take hold, to keep Harry with me, even while I knew that my hold would break, as it always did. And then, suddenly it was different.

For the first time since I’d lost Harry, I didn’t wake up crying with Harry’s name on my lips. I don’t know why. It had just changed. I felt a presence, a solace, that made it okay. Harry was gone, but it didn’t make me scream this time. I was just sad and tired. And I slept.

~~~

I haven’t had a drink since that first night. I tell myself it’s because I don’t want one. If I wanted one, I would have it.

It’s bullshit. I crave it. But I won’t give that evil, Slytherin git the satisfaction. Won’t let him see how weak I really am.

That’s at two weeks.

By the end of a month, I just can’t bear to disappoint him.

To my surprise, Malfoy hasn’t purged the place of alcohol. _Bastard._ I’d had a speech all planned. Of course, Malfoy has made _one_ bottle disappear - down his own throat that first night. I still laugh when I think about that. Stupid Ferret _._

At first, I’d been suspicious about the booze. Is that what Malfoy wanted? To see me fail. To watch me crumble. Is that what kept Malfoy coming back each day? Hoping to see a wasted wreck when he returned?

And that’s what keeps me from giving in. When the thirst has me. When my bones ache and my hands shake so badly I cry. I imagine the sneer. That superior look of contempt. There, for so many years, embedded in my head. And I will walk. Ten steps. Turn. Ten back. The length of my bedroom. Back and forth, back and forth, for whole nights. To the point of exhaustion.

Afraid to leave that sanctuary. (Will Malfoy be waiting? Triumphant?).

Afraid my feet will lead me back down the old way. The well-worn line to cupboard and bottle. (Will Malfoy be waiting? Gleeful?).

Scared that I might want that. Might want to travel back down that way. (Will Malfoy be waiting? Disappointed?).

Scared he’ll leave.

_____________________________________________________________________ 

Weasley thinks I go home each evening. In truth I wait. Wait for the pacing to stop. And then I watch. Watch the restless, tortured sleep. And when the dream becomes too much, when he starts to cry and reaches out to keep his friend from fading, I take him in my arms, as I had that first night, and soothe him into a restful sleep.

Once I’m sure Potter won’t be tormenting him anymore, when I’m sure I’ve chased him away again – he’s mine Potter, you can’t have him - I kiss his forehead gently, and whisper, "You’re mine now, Weasley."

And then I leave.


	4. Chapter 4

"Right, Weasley, get your shoes on. We’re going out."

He looks up from his book. "What? No nap?" He asks with a grin.

"No, now hurry up, peasant."

"So, where are we going? A little Death Eater get-together? Torturers Anonymous perhaps?" Weasley grins affectionately at me.

Our arguments have somehow morphed into this gentle teasing, the old venom lost somewhere along the way.

I turn away. I know I’m about to wipe the smile from his face and I can’t bear to see it.

"We’re going to visit Potter’s grave." I speak curtly, trying desperately to cover my own trepidation at the coming response. When none comes, I turn back.

Weasley’s slumped in the chair, his face white. His eyes are wide with…fear. I’m surprised. I expected anger, perhaps tears. But Weasley looks terrified.

"I…" I take a step towards him but he suddenly jumps to his feet and bolts from the room.

 _Shit_.

I follow slowly, not sure I want to find the other man. Standing in the hallway, I lean my head back against the wall. I close my eyes, as I listen to the sound of retching coming from the bathroom.

_Bastard._

I’m not sure who I mean. Weasley? Myself? Potter?

Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.

Okay all three of us then. But mostly Potter. Yeah, definitely Potter. Dead, four-eyed, bastard Potter.

I thought we’d made progress. Thought I’d actually broken through the grief. And now, we're back here. Back to this. How far is Weasley from the next drink? Really? Would he even have the decency to wait for me to leave? Would I leave?

Ah, shit. I don’t know what to do _._

The retching has stopped. I slide down the wall to the floor. Placing my head in my hands I sigh.

Fuck. 

I don’t know what to do. What to say. It’s all one big mistake. I shouldn’t have come. I should have left Weasley wallowing in his misery. Why drag both of us down? Fuck, I’d almost smiled when I’d heard Potter had snuffed it. Almost. But then I'd known, even then, that Weasley would be hurting.

Bastard Potter, git face bastard (apparently, I don’t have to be drunk, seems I’m pretty inarticulate when angry too).

I should leave. Weasley will be better off on his own. I’m only making things worse. I should never have come.

Bullshit. He’d be dead.

And suddenly, I have my own urge to vomit. I’ve buried that. Hidden it deep. The truth that threatens to bury _me_.

How close had I come?

How close had I come to losing him? And to Potter?

In my growing despair my anger surges.

Fuck Potter. _Fuck_ Weasley. How dare he. How dare he do this. One mention of Potter and he’s heaving. One mention of that bastard and he’s throwing his heart up. How fucking dare he. Puke your heart up for Potter but never even _show_ it to me.

 _Me_ who stayed. _Me_ who’s here now.

I didn’t leave. You total, utter, fucking bastard.

There’s a movement to my left. He’s left the bathroom.

I stand up and march after the other man.

Weasley’s sitting on the sofa looking pale and shaken, splintered.

And why? Because I have the audacity to suggest we visit that dead tosser’s grave. Merlin, it isn’t as if I’m planning to dig up the corpse and make him kiss it. _Useless prat._ Well enough is enough. It’s time to settle this.

"So, tell me when, Wealsey?"

_____________________________________________________________________ 

I look up in shock.

 _Fuck_. Surely the heartless bastard isn’t going to make me name a day to - to -

"Tell me, when would it have become too much? When would you have become too tired?" Malfoy’s voice is vehement.

"What - what are you talking about?" I feel confused and fearful. Something about the other man is starting to scare me.

"The _waiting_ , Weasley. Do try to keep up. When would the waiting to die have become too much?" Malfoy spits the words out. " _When_ would you have _finally_ had enough of waiting for the drink and grief to kill you?" Malfoy slumps into the nearest chair. Shaking his head slowly, his voice suddenly softens. "And when would you have finally taken it into your own hands?"

I want to run but my whole body feels paralysed. "I - I wouldn’t have -" I look at the floor, unable to meet the other man’s eyes.

"Yes, yes you would." The words are harsh, cold. Real.

I’m crying now. "No…you’re wrong. I would never do that. You know nothing. How could you?" How could the Ferret know; know how it felt. The Ferret who’d never loved anyone, except himself.

"Oh, I _know_ , Weasley." The intensity of the words shocks me.

"Please, Malfoy, please…" I can’t listen to this. Malfoy doesn’t understand. How could he? "You don’t understand."

_____________________________________________________________________ 

"Don’t I? Then tell me."

Weasley takes a deep breath. He stands shakily and walks slowly across the room. I’m surprised when he doesn’t head for the window. I’ve grown used to his love affair with the window, but this time he faces the wall.

"Have you ever loved anyone, Malfoy? _Really_ loved them? Unconditionally. No questions asked?"

He rests his head on the wall. "Do you even know what love is, or how it feels? I do. And I know what it is to know you’ll never see that person again. Never hear their voice or laughter. Never touch their hand. Ever. They’re gone. And you’ll never have them back." Weasley’s voice chokes on the last word.

I take a step towards him, not able to stand by and see him in this much pain without some attempt to comfort, but before I can take another step, he continues. "There’ll be no last time. No second chance."

His voice is shaky now, full of tears. "It leaves you sick and dying, aching and empty. You want to go too. No matter how many other people are left to you. It’s not enough. It's never enough. It goes beyond hurting."

He turns back to face me looking angry now. "There’s a Harry-shaped hole in my life Malfoy, and exactly how do you propose to fill it? You’re too tall, too thin, too pale and too you. So please, just leave me alone."

And with that, he walks quickly from the room.

Well, I suppose I asked for that.

I rub my hand across my eyes.

I shouldn’t have pushed. Shouldn’t have forced it. But I had to. I can’t deal with these feelings anymore. The more I realise how close I had been to… I can’t handle it. Can’t even name it. And it hurts. So much. Hurts that Weasley really would have done it. That he didn’t feel he could reach out to anyone. Didn’t want to reach out…to me. It’s too much.

And I haven’t finished yet.

I find Weasley in his bedroom, sitting on the end of the bed, head in his hands.

"You bastard, Weasley!"

That gets his attention. He looks up, eyes wide with shock.

"You want to know if I know what it is to love? Do I know how it feels? You’ve no fucking idea."

I take a step towards the bed. "So you’ve cried. Cried for the dead. Well guess what, Weasley? I’ve cried too. Cried for the living. The living who didn’t even know or care if I was alive."

I pause taking a strangled breath. A part of me is screaming to back off, calm down before I reveal too much. But a much louder part is screaming _fuck you._

I glare into Weasley’s pale, frightened face. "I let strangers love me, just to know I’m alive. I've cried too, whispering a name into the dark. And I can’t end it. Can’t finish it." I take a step closer. "Not because I don’t want to, don’t long to, but because it won’t let me. It won’t allow me that luxury."

I stop, feel my face heat with emotion. When I next speak my voice is soft. "I lie so many ways, so many times, with my hands, my tongue and my thoughts. My whole life is a lie."

I run my hands hastily through my hair. "And then," Looking up, I turn red-rimmed eyes to Weasley. "I’m left to face the void when even the lie fades. And dying won’t make a difference. Death won’t end it. 'Cos I can’t…just can’t leave a world in which they still live."

I turn away now, walking away from the other man, unable to face him. "While they breathe it’s enough. To know that somewhere _they_ are there. That we at least share that. That’s the only hope that keeps me clinging to a life otherwise…empty."

I walk to the window and stare out, my voice a whisper now. "So please, Weasley, don’t talk to me about love…just don’t."

_____________________________________________________________________ 

I’m shell-shocked. Completely overwhelmed by the torrent of emotion I’ve just witnessed. Overcome by my own reaction; unsure where all the feelings are coming from, and what they mean.

But in the end all I can say is. "I’m sorry, Malfoy. I had no idea. Who…?"

The other man turns back with an angry glare.

Oh oh.

Somehow I sense I may have said the wrong thing. Again.

_____________________________________________________________________ 

I bang my head against the window pane, before turning back. I’m going to have to kill Weasley. It’s sad, but there’s nothing else to be done.

"Why do you think I’m here you - you - imbecile!" I’m screaming again now. "Oh yeah, that’s right, I’m here ‘cos I hate and despise you. You stupid git!"

I take a deep breath and try to clear my mind of knives and blood and screaming. It’s probably best.

"You didn’t care, did you?"

Weasley starts to open his mouth, but he doesn’t get a chance to reply, as I continue my rant. "You didn’t give a fuck. Didn’t care how _we_ would feel."

I’m suddenly in front of him, kneeling at his feet, not really sure how I got here. "What about those of us that care? Those that would be left behind to deal with the fall-out? The guilt, the regret, all the words left unsaid. What about _us_ , you selfish bastard?" I have hold of Weasley now, shaking him in my anger.

_____________________________________________________________________ 

I’m stunned.

I’ve seen Malfoy angry - Merlin who hasn’t? I’ve seen him resentful, arrogant, contemptuous. But this? This is something else.

And I don’t know what to say. To do. Then, all at once something clicks. I look up at the other man. "Care? Those of us who care?"

Malfoy looks up, eyes full of defeat. Eyes full of something else.

"Yes." He says.

"You… _you_ care?" It’s a whisper.

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Always have. Always will, Weasel king."

And with that Malfoy Disapparates.

~~~

Two hours later, I’m still lying on my bed, looking up at the darkening ceiling.

I want to be eleven again. Before it happened. Before I knew. When all I really worried about was getting to dinner early and chocolate frogs. Or Quidditch and how hideous the next Christmas jumper would be. Wondering when Voldemort’s next attack would come. Sacrifices on giant chess boards. Annoying know-it-alls, boy saviours and arrogant pureblood Slytherins.

Where’s Malfoy? Is he coming back?

~~~

I sit up, tears streaming down my face, gasping for breath. I’d fallen into a fitful sleep, filled with accusing voices and unwanted visions. I feel sick; sick and dizzy. I gulp in air trying to steady my rapid heartbeat, to regain control of my shaking limbs. My head aches, throbbing as if a band is tightening around it.

They’re back. Just when I’d begun to accept that they’d gone, the nightmares are back. I don’t know why. Why now?

And the little ground I thought I’d attained shifts and tilts and leaves me undone.

~~~

It’s 11pm and Malfoy’s been gone for seven hours. I’m sitting in the kitchen, gulping down water. I feel like screaming. Where is the Slytherin bastard?

I suddenly realise I have no idea where the other man lives or how to contact him. Malfoy could just walk away from me and I have no way of stopping it. My hands start to shake.

Shit. Fuck. Shit.

I’m starting to depend on someone again. Starting to wait for him, to need Malfoy in my life. Like I needed Harry. Waited for Harry. And I can’t go through that again. I _won’t_ go through that again.

And not Malfoy. It can’t be Malfoy. No. It _won’t_ be Malfoy. I won’t let this happen. This is madness. I’ll make Malfoy go away, before he chooses to leave.

Or has he already gone?

Oh please, no. Was that his plan all along?

Make me care, make me need him and then leave. Like Harry had left.

Oh hell, I hate him. Hate him for making me feel this way. For making me _feel_. I hate you, Malfoy.

I hate you, Harry. How could you do this to me, you bastard? How could you leave me, Harry? I loved you but you left me.

Oh Merlin, he left me. He got himself killed and he left me. I hate you. I hate you, Harry.

With tears streaming down my distraught face, I stand and stagger blindly to the cupboard. Opening the door I reach in and bring out the bottle. Back at the table I open it and shakily lift it to my lips.

You can both rot in hell.

 


	5. Chapter 5

  
It’s 2am when I come back.

I’m worried. I hadn’t meant to be gone so long. Leaving before I broke, I’d moved to return less than an hour later. Knowing, I would finally have to face my demons, would have to accept my fate and bow down before the altar of my own making.

Fuck that. Malfoy’s bowed to no one.

I’m here to tell Weasley I’m his and what's more he’s bloody lucky to have me. Bastard.

I’m late because the gods hate me and spend their entire lives planning how to piss on my parade. So, naturally just as I’d been about to Apparate back here, that stupid, old fart, Dumbledore had turned up.

I could have strangled the silly old coot. Especially when he cheerfully announced that he had an assignment for me. Of course, it would have to be one that required my _immediate_ attention. And as always, because the sneaky bastard always knows which buttons to press, he’d told me it involved a member of Weasley’s family. The Weaselette to be precise. Weasley’s favourite, closest sibling. His fucking pride and joy. So what could I do?

Nine hours later, aching and sore I’m beginning to think it’s all been a wild goose chase. No one is where they’re meant to be. Nothing that is meant to happen, happens, and I’m beginning - lord knows not for the first time - to suspect Dumbledore of dissembling. It is as if he’s deliberately keeping me away from Weasley, and now I needed to know why.

Has something happened? _Oh God what if…_ And I Apparate to Weasley’s house in a blind panic.

I walk into the living room, only to find it empty. In the kitchen my heart stops. There is a bottle. An _open_ bottle.

Shit. No.

Slowly, scared of what I’ll find, I make my way to the bedroom. Behind the door, I’m shocked by the sight that greets me.

Weasley is in bed. And he’s not alone.

I’ll fucking murder Dumbledore. If he’s deliberately kept me away just so his favourite Gryffindor could - could -

A movement from the bed interrupts my thoughts.

Granger looks up and smiles at me. Smiles? To my surprise it _isn’t_ a smile of triumph. She brings a finger up to her lips and mouths _sssh_ at me, nodding down at a sleeping Weasley. A sleeping Weasley with his head in her lap, her fingers stroking through his hair. And, even amidst my concern for the redhead, the jealousy sears.

Granger laughs quietly, shaking her head at me. She gently disentangles herself from the sleeping man, placing his head onto the pillow. She gets up from the bed and walks over to me. Smiling softly again, she takes my hand in hers and leads me from the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Once in the kitchen, she stops and turns to face me. And slaps me soundly across the face.

"Fuck, Granger! What is that for?" I glare at her as I rub my abused cheek.

Granger frowns. "For leaving him. For making him think you’d left for good."

I don’t know what to say to that.

Luckily, Granger doesn’t require a response. "Right," she says, rubbing her hands together. "Now that’s out the way, I could really do with a drink." And with that, she goes to the nearest cupboard and takes out two glasses. Reaching for the open bottle sitting on the table, she proceeds to pour two, very generous measures into the glasses before placing the bottle back onto the table.

"Come on, Malfoy, let’s sit down and I’ll tell you all about it." She hands me a glass, then walks into the living room, retrieving the bottle from the table as she passes.

I stand looking at the glass in my hand. I shrug and lift it to my lips. I take a deep drink, closing my eyes as the burn slowly melts into my stomach. Shaking my head, I follow Granger into the other room.

~~~

An hour has passed, along with half a bottle of a Firewhiskey.

We’re on the next bottle, and I decide that I’m going to remove each of Dumbledore’s organs - with a rusty spoon - while the old bastard watches.

Granger has made the mistake of filling me in on the missing hours, and her detailed description of Weasley’s complete disintegration while I'd been gone, has left me squirming with guilt. Of course, being a true Malfoy, I soon manage to place the blame squarely on someone else’s shoulders. If that stupid old git hadn’t sent me on a fool’s errand, I would have been back before Weasley had even had a chance to miss me.

But he had missed me…

Granger has told me that Weasley became so unglued after I failed to return, that he’d started to drink again. But after the first sip, he’d been sick. He’d floo’d Granger then and tearfully begged her to help him. When she’d arrived he’d poured out his heart to her. Telling her about his sudden realisation that he is, in fact, actually quite pissed off with Harry for dying. And even more angry at me, for telling him I cared, and then buggering off, probably forever. He’d eventually cried himself to sleep in her arms, at which point I’d walked in.

Suddenly, I have to know. I have my suspicions, but I need to know for sure, why she told me, back then, at the very beginning. Why she had deliberately sought _me_ out – I’m an Auror for fuck’s sake - I know when someone has gone out of their way to ‘accidentally bump into me’. And why she had felt the need to unburden herself to me of all people, about her worry for Weasley.

"I knew you’d do something."

I frown at that. "What did you think I’d do? Go out and celebrate? Take him a crate of whiskey in the hope that it would finish him off?"

The wisest witch of her age smiles knowingly at me. "Oh I, I think we both knew what you would do."

I smile, knowing she is right. Knowing, that I had reacted exactly as she had known I would.

Taking another sip of my drink, I decide to go for broke.

"So, Granger, how long have you known?"

Granger looks up and smirks at me. "Since before second year."

I sputter, spraying the carpet with my drink. "Oh, come off it! Even I didn’t know then!"

"Didn’t you?" She raises her eyebrows in a very knowing way.

I have the grace to duck my head. Such a clever little witch.

Grinning, she continues. "A week before the start of our second year. In Flourish and Blotts, that’s when I was sure. Although I had had my suspicions before that."

I’m incredulous. "What! In our first year? You already suspected? Good grief woman, I didn’t even know I was gay then, how could you have known?!"

Hermione smiles. "Female intuition. I was jealous - jealous of the way Ron always reacted to you. It took me awhile to realise it, but that’s what it was. I despised you, of course." She pauses to smirk at me.

I smirk back. "Of course."

"But it was more than that. I hated how mean you were to Harry, but you were always so much more cruel to Ron. And you definitely enjoyed baiting him more."

I blush.  Damn it.

Hermione grins. "When you insulted Harry there was no real feeling there. It was like an old, worn out routine. Something learned by rote - the gospel according to St Lucius?" She looks at me questioningly.

I just shrug. Why deny it now?

"But there was definitely real feeling in what you said to Ron. At first I thought you really did just hate him. But the more I thought about it, the more I began to suspect that something else was going on. After all, why would I feel jealous of you _hating_ Ron? It was like an itch in my brain that I just couldn't reach."

She smiles over at me. "You thought it odd that I suspected as early as first year when we were what eleven/twelve? But, you know, that’s probably why. It wasn’t so long since pulling a girl’s pigtails or pushing her over in the playground, meant you liked her. Of course, by Hogwarts we were far too grown up and sophisticated for that."

I can’t help but grin at that.

"Then, I thought about how Ron and I acted around each other…"

"Merlin, Granger, you certainly thought about it a lot!"

"Yes well, it is _me_ , Draco." We both start laughing.

I can’t believe I’m pissed at 3.30am and with Hermione Granger of all people. Talk about fucking surreal. Oh yes, and we’re discussing our mutual feelings of lust for a certain redhead. Shit, there is a good chance I’m going to have to give up drinking. And soon.

"Anyway…" Granger waits to make sure she has my attention again. Tenacious little bitch, isn’t she?

Once she’s sure that I’m listening she continues. "So, I thought about how Ron and I were with each other - bickering all the time, driving poor Harry mental in the process. And something started tugging at the back of my mind. My brain was desperately trying to make the connection, but my heart refused to listen. At Flourish and Blotts I knew. And couldn’t deny it any longer."

I’m perplexed. "What exactly did I do in that ruddy book shop? All I can remember is my father trading insults with everybody, while I scowled a lot and tried to look mean."

"It was as you were leaving,” she says.  “You told Harry you’d see him in school and threw me your usual sneer. Then you stopped in front of Ron. It was as if you couldn’t help yourself. You just _had_ to share a moment with him before you left. And the look you gave him." She shakes her head slowly, obviously remembering. "You didn’t even say anything. Just gazed at him for a moment, then raised your eyebrows. I recognised that look."

She smiles. "Poor Ron didn’t have a clue, of course. He just stood there with that adorable confused look on his face…"

"That really is adorable, isn’t it?" I smile wistfully. Oh Merlin, I really did have it bad.  Coming to myself I blush furiously. "Okay, carry on, Granger."

Hermione smiles slyly and then continues. "But I knew that look for what it was. A declaration of intent."

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but she isn’t having any of it.

"Don't give me that look, Draco. You staked your claim that day, even if you didn’t realise it. And I could think of nothing else for days after. You see I knew I had a battle on my hands. Because although Ron and I bickered constantly, that’s all it was - a skirmish, a minor scuffle - but with you it was a bloody pitch battle. And Ron may have been oblivious, but _I_ knew that I was in for a long, dirty fight and I had a horrible feeling I was going to lose."

She pauses, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "So, tell me, Draco, did I?"

I ignore her question along with the knowing grin. Smartarse Mudblood.

"I still don’t know how you knew before I did," I repeat stubbornly. I know I’m stalling but I don’t care. I’m not quite drunk enough for this conversation. I finish the rest of my glass in a single gulp. Reaching out to grab the rapidly emptying bottle from the table, I pour myself another.

Granger shrugs in response. "I don’t really understand it myself. It was all to do with feelings and instinct and nothing to do with logic or facts." She smiles at my look of mock horror. "I know, so very not me! It’s not as if I woke up one morning and thought that bastard Malfoy fancies my Ron."

I return her stupid grin.

"I just felt threatened and jealous, and it was all to do with Ron and you. I really didn’t know why to begin with. I mean all you did was argue. Of course, that’s all Ron and I did most of the time too."

She pauses as if in thought and then grinning at me she continues. "Argumentative little git, isn’t he?"

We both laugh.

Sobering quickly, Granger goes on. "But with you it was different. Our arguing was lukewarm at best, but with you and Ron, there was real heat there." She blushes and is probably surprised to see me do the same.

"Yes, well…" I mutter, trying to cover my embarrassment, "most of that came from Weasley’s face."

"Sure, Draco, sure." She grins knowingly, choosing to ignore my rather rude hand gesture.

"Anyway, I became aware that there was always a spark between you that I never shared with him. At first, I was just jealous of the emotions you seemed able to stir in him that I couldn’t. When I realised that for you it was something more I began to feel threatened. You wanted _my_ Ron. And it wasn’t long after that that I began to suspect that Ron might be more interested in you than me too."

I stand up, shaking my head. "No, now that I don’t believe. Weasley’s never entertained those sort of thoughts for me. And Merlin, knows I’ve looked." My voice sounds sad, wistful even to my ears.

"No, perhaps not _you_ specifically." Granger looks apologetic. "But I began to suspect that _you_ were at least the right _gender_ to attract his interest."

Ah. I nod my understanding and return her sad smile.

"And what about you, Draco? When did you realise?"

I grin. "About you, Granger? The first time I saw you with him!"

Hermione frowns. "No, not _me_. Stop being deliberately obtuse. And I was not that obvious!"

"Sure, Hermione, sure." I mirror her tone from earlier and then snort as she actually puts out her tongue at me. Very mature, Granger.

"No, Ferret. When did you realise about _you_?"

Oh. I look away, not sure if I want to have this conversation with Granger. Or with anyone. I sit back down again and take another large swallow of my drink.

"Wait," I say in one last desperate effort to divert the conversation away from myself. "You still haven’t told me when you fell for our Weasel."

Hermione blushes and ducks her head. "Erm, well, you know how you said that you knew the first time you saw us together, well…"

"Not bloody obvious, my arse!"

"It’s not my fault." she cries defensively. "He had the cutest smudge of dirt on the side of his nose. How could I resist?"

We both grin.

"It was cute, wasn’t it?" I laugh. "Even in the midst of being insulted I had a terrible urge to lean over and rub it off. Of course, then his stupid rat attacked us. Fucking Pettigrew!"

"Yes," Granger nodded regretfully. "I've always been sorry I missed that."

"So, Granger, it was love at first sight then?"

She smiles, a little wistfully. "I suppose, although back then all I knew was the strange fluttering in my stomach every time I saw him or even thought about him." She smiled sadly at me.

Suddenly, I feel bad for her (after all, I know how bad it feels). Reaching over I gently touch her cheek. "If you ever tell anyone I said this, I will deny it fervently. But well…he would have been lucky to have you."

She smiles. "Thank you, Draco. I know how much that must have cost you."

I shrug suddenly feeling embarrassed. "Yes, well -" I sniff leaning hastily back again. "Of course, had you ever procured him, then I would have had to kill you."

Granger barks out a laugh at that. " _Procured_ , Draco? You make him sound like a possession."

"He is - _mine._ "

There is no humour in my voice and I hope she knows that I am deadly serious. Staring steadily at me for a moment, she shrugs. "I guess I was always going to lose."

Then, standing up, she takes the empty glass from me. Walking to the table, she pours two more drinks passing mine back to me as she returns to her seat.

"Right, your turn, Malfoy - spill!"

So much for diverting attention away from myself.

"Okay, Granger, you win." I salute her with my glass. "So, what will it be then? First time I noticed him? Smelt him? Realised? About him? About me? Name your poison."

I wait for her response, knowing exactly what it will be.

"All of it, Draco. I want to hear, all of it."

I sigh resigned to my fate. "All right, Hermione, I’ll give."

Knocking back my drink in one go, I cough until tears fill my eyes. Looking up through tear-laden lashes, I grin at her wry smile. Regaining my composure, I begin my forced confession.

"When did I first notice him? It was the same day I met Potter. In Diagon Alley. Strange to think _I_ saw Weasley before Potter ever laid eyes on him. Or before I ever saw Potter." I wonder if my voice sounds as distant as my thoughts. Shaking my head slowly I continue. "He was with all his family, of course, coming out of Flourish and Blotts…"

"Gosh, Draco, that shop has paid such a big part in your courtship, I really think you should consider getting hitched there."

"Ha fucking ha!" I give her a scathing look. "I - to return to the point at hand Ms Granger - was with Lucius who just couldn’t resist a remark about vermin being allowed to breed indiscriminately. Naturally, I looked to where he was directing his remark. And well, he had a point."

Granger looks shocked.

"Oh, come on, Granger. There were an awful lot of the ginger tossers."

She smiles probably recognising the affection behind the barbed comment. Then, just because she can (evil cow). "Yes, but only one Ron." 

I recover quickly and continue. "But my eyes were drawn to him. Maybe, because he was my age and I recognised another who would be starting at Hogwarts with me. Maybe, even then, it was something more. I don’t know. I was just drawn."

I pause looking meaningfully at my empty glass. Granger raises her eyebrows, but gets up to fetch me another. I’m going to have one fuck awful hangover.

"He was odious."

Granger stops pouring the drink to look at me in shock. “I’d have called Ron a lot of things at eleven but _odious_ definitely wasn’t one of them.”

"Yes, well I would. He was _odious_."

Looking away, I stare at the floor. "He was all smiles and shining eyes. All full of hope and happiness as he headed for his first day at school. No weight of family name tied around _his_ neck. He could look forward to making new friends - mine had already been chosen for me, or did you think I picked Crabbe and Goyle for their scintillating wit?"

I don’t wait for a reply. "No, he could look happily ahead to all the new discoveries awaiting him. But not me. For me, there was nothing left to discover, nothing left to excite or tempt me. Lucius, and the tutors he paid, had already given me a thorough grounding in everything I was likely to encounter. And believe me, they had long ago sucked out any joy I had ever garnered from magic. While there Weasley was, surrounded by the warmth of his family, cocooned in teasing and envy, advice and solicitude. God, how I loathed him."

I look up at Granger with a wry smile. "And yet, I was still drawn to him. I wanted that. Wanted his warmth. Even then. Before I knew or understood what it meant. In some vague way I coveted him."

I pause, as Granger passes me my drink, taking a sip before continuing.

"The next time I saw Weasley was on the train. I couldn’t believe that he’d got to Potter before I had. Or maybe, it was that Potter had made it to _him_ first. I really don't know, it was all so confusing. I just remember feeling so pissed off at the sight of them, smiling and chatting like they’d known each other forever."

I may have been unsure of my feelings for Weasley back then, but my feelings for Potter had been unambiguous from the start. The moment I had seen The Boy Who Lived, chatting happily to Weasley, my hatred for Potter was born. And had never faltered, never shifted. I hated him as much in death, as I had in life. One of my greatest regrets is not being present to personally witness Potter's demise.

A soft cough from Granger interrupts my reverie. Assuming that she probably won’t appreciate my thoughts regarding her dead best friend, I decide pressing on is my best option. I take a quick swallow of my drink before resuming.

"Of course, I was also under strict instructions from Lucius to ingratiate myself with Potter, so I knew he’d be angry if I failed just because some peasant had made it there before me."

I shake my head. "But my anger came from more than that. Why did it have to be Weasley?"

I look at Granger as if she could provide me with my answer. When her only response is a sad smile, I carry on. "Of all the people Potter could have befriended, why did it have to be Weasley? Back then it was all mixed up and I don’t understand why it made me so angry. Now, I can see it for what it was - resentment and jealousy. I resented the fact that Scarhead," I shrug at Granger’s _tut_ of disapproval, "had been allowed to choose. Allowed to make his _own_ choice of friend. A luxury never afforded to me. And worst of all, the bastard..."

"Draco!" Granger looks scandalised, obviously appalled at my apparent disrespect for the dead.

I roll my eyes. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Granger, he’s _dead_ , he’s not going to be hurt by a little name calling."

Granger shakes her head - some things just never change - but she refrains from interrupting me again.

"The _bastard_ ," I looked pointedly at her, ignoring her eye-roll. "had taken _my_ choice. The person _I_ would have chosen, had I had that privilege. I felt bitter and cheated. While all the time knowing that Lucius would never have allowed me to be friends with a poor Weasley."

I laugh then, a hollow laugh. "At least, not until I found out that Weasley was best friend of Harry Potter. No, once he knew that, he positively encouraged me to court Weasley’s interest in the hope that I might learn something from him that could be used against Potter. But by then, it was past infatuation and I wouldn’t contaminate it with his mendacity."  
  
_________________________________________________________________________ 

Malfoy’s voice has taken on such intensity that it makes my heart ache. I’m beginning to realise just how much he must have suffered during our years at Hogwarts, knowing now, how strongly he had felt about Ron even then. To see Ron every day and know he could never be his friend. To hear him and know he could never join in with his laughter. To want and never have.

It must have been worse than my own pain, than what I had gone through. At least, I’d been able to have Ron for a friend. I’d been allowed to love him, and even if Ron couldn’t return it as I would have liked, he at least returned it as a friend. But what had Malfoy had? I shake my head at the sadness of it all.

Something else suddenly strikes me too.

"Draco, why do you always refer to your father as ‘Lucius’?"  
  
_________________________________________________________________________ 

 

I look up. I've been so lost in my own thoughts of the past that I’ve failed to notice Hermione's preoccupation. I stop stirring my drink with my finger, and answer her question.

"Don’t you know, Hermione?" I say offhandedly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world (to me it really is). "‘Father’ means someone like Arthur Weasley. I would never muddy it by association with Lucius Malfoy. No, he’s Lucius. I have never had a ‘father’."

"Oh, Draco."

Noticing the tears in her eyes, I shrug (while I appreciate the sentiment, I really can’t deal with sympathy at this point). "Don’t stress over it, Granger. At least he wasn’t a dentist."

Hermione shakes her head smiling. She knows I’m asking her to back off. And respects it; taking a deep breath, she nods for me to continue.

"Okay, so much for _noticing_.” I shake myself out of my melancholy mood and try to adopt a more business-like tone. "What was next?"

"Well, in your words, Malfoy - _smelt_ him? Should I even ask?" Hermione smirks.

I laugh, ducking my head in embarrassment. "Merlin, I need help, don’t I?"

Looking back up I smile as I continue. "The fight in the Quidditch stands in first year. Weasley was on top of me trying to punch my face in, and all I could think of was how he smelt of autumn, of cold hands and leaves. In the midst of our flailing fists I had this sudden urge to just take hold of his face and breathe him in. To taste the cold that clung to him. I’ve loved autumn ever since." I close my eyes, lost in that sweet memory. Abruptly, I open them. "Okay, where were we? Oh yes… _realisation_. About me, about him. Oh lord love a duck!"

Granger chokes on her drink. "Malfoy! Did you just say what I think you said?"

"I don't know, Granger. I’m emotional, anything is possible at this point."

We both collapse into fits of laughter.

Perhaps I ought to have cleared out Weasley’s supply of alcohol when I first arrived - to save myself. Merlin, Granger can put it away _._ Though, I suppose having Potter and Weasley as your best mates, would require a certain amount of stamina in the drinking department. Bless her. Oh man, I am so drunk. Shaking my head I take a deep breath.

"Okay, onwards and upwards. Realisation…oh fuck!" And, all at once, it becomes very serious.

I lean forwards, my head in my hands. "Oh Merlin, Hermione, I love him. Merlin, help me. I love him. ’’

Hermione reacts immediately. "It’s okay, Draco. It will be okay." And she draws me to her.

Enfolded in her arms, I cry. Cry to someone I know will understand. Someone, who has cried the same tears, who knows the same pain.

Oh hell, what a mixed up, messed up, little world we live in.


	6. Chapter 6

I wake up on Weasley’s sofa, encased in a blanket and with a raging thirst. I can hear someone moving about in the kitchen and gradually become aware of the smell of bacon and toast drifting towards me. Bloody hell, I’m hungry.

I’m just contemplating how to go about begging the other person - please let it be Weasley - for food, when the man himself appears at the door.

"Hi," he says, blushing as he speaks. "Hermione said you might want some breakfast when you woke up. It’s just about ready if you are. Oh, and I thought you might appreciate some water." He gestures to the glass on the table.

I smile. "Thank you. I’ll be there in a moment."

He nods and returns to the kitchen.

I grab the glass and gulp down the water gratefully.  Then, I take a minute to wallow. It’s all seems to have finally fallen into place. My doubts have disappeared with my tears. And now I feel like I've come home.

I stretch sighing contentedly as I do so. Yes, I can quite happily wake up to breakfast and Weasley for the rest of my life. Of course, a _bed_ , rather than the _sofa_ would be an improvement. And well… _Weasley’s_ bed over just about anything would be fucking fantastic...

I sit up rubbing my hands together. Okay, time to turn on the Malfoy charm and charm Weaselbee into bed.

Just then, my stomach growls loudly in protest. I grin. But first - bacon!

~~~

When I walk into the kitchen, Weasley’s seated at the table drinking coffee. A steaming plate of bacon, egg, sausage and tomato is waiting in the vacant place opposite. I sit down and immediately start to eat. Merlin, I’m ravenous, must have been all that running around yesterday. Suddenly, noticing the distinct lack of food in front of the other man, I pause, concerned.

"Why aren’t you eating?" I ask.

Weasley looks up, grinning. "I did, about three hours ago."

I look at him askance. "What time is it?"

Glancing up at the clock on the wall behind his head, Weasley smirks and says, "Just coming up to 12.45pm."

"Fuck."

I’ve never slept in beyond 9am in my life. No matter what time I stagger home. Granger really ought to come with a health warning.

~~~

We sit for some time in companionable silence. I’m enjoying the food and the company. Weasley’s reading the paper, occasionally glancing up shyly. Each time he does, I smile at him, he blushes, smiles back, then looks down at the paper again.  It’s perfect.

There’s so much that we need to discuss. So much we need to say. We both know it. But we also need this. A respite. An interlude to appreciate where we are and how far we’ve come. A moment when we don’t shout, smirk, drink or panic.

~~~

"So - er - you mentioned something about caring."

Weasley’s face is crimson and he doesn’t seem to know where to look. Finally he trains his eyes on the carpet.

I’m sitting on the sofa clad in one of the infamous Weasley jumpers, maroon with a large _R_ embroidered on the front. I find I don’t mind at all.

My own clothes are crumpled beyond immediate repair thanks to my night on the sofa. When I emerged from the shower after breakfast, it was to find the jumper laid out on the bed for me, together with a very faded pair of jeans. I figured that they must have been a fairly ancient pair of Weasley’s, as they actually fitted me quite well - if you define _well_ as hanging off my hips and requiring an embarrassingly large turn up.

Now, I’m watching the other man’s obvious discomfit with considerable amusement. Perhaps I’m still slightly drunk from this morning, or maybe it’s hysteria. Whatever the reason, I suddenly find the whole situation hilarious.

_ __________________________________________________________________________ _

 

Hearing a snort of laughter, I look up in shock.

Malfoy’s bent over, tears streaming down his face, unable to stop laughing. Not quite the reaction I had been expecting.

Looking up at me, Malfoy snorts again, even louder.

It’s too much for me. With a sigh of relief, I start laughing.

Gradually, the laughter calms into intermittent giggles. I shake my head. How old are we? I look over at the other man. Malfoy has finally stopped giggling and is smiling at me now.

"Yes, Weasley," he says softly. "I care."

"Oh."

I don’t know what else to say.

Even after nearly twenty four hours of thinking about it, I still can’t come up with a more worthy reply.

Malfoy frown. "Is that your best response, Weasel? _Oh_?"

_Oh oh._

We’re back to _Weasel_. Not good.

But I still don’t know what to say.

All Hermione had said before she'd left earlier, was that I should talk to Malfoy; give the ex-Slytherin a chance to tell me exactly how he felt. And then, she'd added rather pointedly that I should tell him how _I_ felt.

Fine. Except of course, I don’t actually fucking know how I feel. Apart from confused.

But Hermione had been right about one thing. We did need to talk. I needed to know exactly how the blond git felt about me. _Cared_ just didn’t cover it. Maybe then, I would understand my _own_ feelings.

"I need to know, Draco." I reply softly. "To know it all. How much you care and what it means."

Malfoy sighs and looks down at his hands. "You don’t ask for much, Weaselbee."

I don’t respond. I just wait.

"I love you. Have loved you, for longer than you would ever believe. Will carry on loving you, whatever the outcome here. As for what it means…it means everything. _You_ mean everything."

He pauses still looking at his hands. Then, grey eyes pin me with an intense look as he asks, "Now, you tell me - what does it mean?"

I stand up and walk the well-worn path to the window.

"Honestly, Draco? I don’t know. I’ve been hating you for so long," I turn and smile, "yeah, I lied before - I’ve never been _indifferent_ to you." The smile fades. "I’ve hated you my whole life...it’s kind of weird to stop now."

_ _________________________________________________________________________  _

My heart and hopes plummet into my pristine, perfect leather loafers.

"Weird...but not wholly unappealing." Weasley looks up shyly, blushing slightly.

My breath hitches as my heart rockets north from my toes to my mouth. Oh don’t tease me Weasley. I’ve waited too long. Please don’t. But I don’t speak. I refuse to help the Weasel. This is something he’s going to have to finally lay to rest himself.

_ ________________________________________________________________________  _

I feel disconcerted by the other man’s silence. Have I said the right thing? And right for who? Me? Him? Both of us? Truth is it’s all pretty overwhelming. Draco Malfoy who has always hated me, who I’ve always hated. Comfortable, familiar, manageable hate. Now Draco Malfoy loves me, has always loved me. Still loves me. My world is on its head.

And I’m suddenly euphoric with it.

I’m fucking ecstatic with it.

I hear the click. Recognise it. _Finally_ get it.

_ _________________________________________________________________________  _

I see the moment he gets it and breathe again.

He’s there.

I win Granger.

I walk towards him, sure at last. We look, just look. Memorising the moment, commemorating the second. This will be it, down long years, this is it.

Surprisingly, to both of us I think, it’s Weasley’s hand that touches first, reaching out long fingers to curl around my narrow neck, thumb stroking my cheek.

It’s too much. Too many hopes, half-dreams, wishes, rants, denials. Too many attempted exorcisms in too many anonymous rooms, in too many anonymous bodies. Bleeding my pain out. All too suddenly stopped.

And great, hiccupping sobs suddenly leap from my constricted throat.

But he gets that too, and nodding slowly, he pulls me into his arms as the torrent breaks.

~~~

Snot. Yes, there was definitely a world of snot. Then sleep, lots of sleep.

I feel like I had about fourteen years of sleep to make up. I don’t know why but I slept like it was my last night.

But where has all the snot gone?

_And why am I fixating on snot?_

Oh yeah, perhaps then, I can blank out the fact that my - thankfully snot-free - face is nuzzled up against a slightly stubbled, warm neck. I’m not quite ready to deal with that yet.

So, back to snot it is then _._

I distinctly remember there being rather a lot of it – Merlin, I was a snot-making machine.

Oh, dear lord, Weaselbee must have been disgusted.

_What, as he gently wiped down your face with a warm wash cloth?_

Oh, that’s where the snot had gone.

_ _________________________________________________________________________ _

I lie in bed feeling mostly content, maybe a little sad. I’m thinking about Draco. Of holding him while he cried. And cried. And cried some more. God, that man really needed to let his emotions out to play more often or he was going to explode.

There had been a lot of snot I seem to recall.

Funnily enough, it hadn’t disgusted me - and this from the man who couldn’t wipe my one year old nephew’s snotty nose without gagging. But with Draco it had been different.

It had actually been a relief to see the usually controlled blond like that - emotions out of control and bodily fluids flowing freely. I shake my head at that thought. I’d never seen that. Never seen beyond the mask that Malfoy displayed to the world. Have never even considered that something lived, breathed and felt underneath that synthetic, perfect façade. To see those walls crumble. To actually be there when Malfoy’s mask finally fell…

And I’d done that. Had reduced the great god Draco Malfoy to a wonderful heap of...well, okay...snot, but it was still wonderful. Even as I’d removed the gooey evidence from Draco’s messy face I had smiled (with not a dry heave in sight).

By that time I had put him to bed. He was obviously exhausted - I’m going to have to have a long chat with Hermione about exactly what she and Draco had been up to ’til the early hours of the morning. Grey eyes had fluttered open briefly at the touch of the warm flannel on his face and then closed again.

After I had cleaned him up, I had sat down next to the sleeping man, stroking his soft, blond hair. I had awoken nearly two hours later having snuggled down in my sleep until Draco’s head was tucked under my chin.

I lie like this for a few minutes more just enjoying the moment until a change in the other man’s breathing makes me suspect that he’s also now awake.

Oh oh. This could be embarrassing.

How is the volatile idiot going to react to finding himself in my bed? _With_ me? Albeit nothing has actually happened - well, beyond sleeping and snot...

Draco lifts his head and amused grey eyes look up into my worried blue ones.

"Er, Weaselbee..."

Here it comes.

"Why aren’t we naked?"

I can feel my eyes widening in shock while my blush probably starts somewhere around my knees.

_ __________________________________________________________________________ _

I lower my head again and snigger into the blush-heated neck. Merlin, Weasley smells good. My tongue snakes out and licks a wet trail up to a very red ear. Mmm tastes good too. I suck the lobe into my mouth, eliciting a small moan from the owner.  I shift slightly to cover more of the body next to me.

Now, where was I? Oh yeah - nakedness and why it appears to be eluding us....

Releasing the ear, I proceed to lay a path of soft kisses along Weasley’s jaw line. The problem, of course, is the Weasel. He’s such a Gryffindor and a gentleman. Taking me to his bed but leaving me clothed. Had the positions been reversed and I had been putting a vulnerable and practically helpless Weasley to bed, then we both would have been naked before his perfect red head hit the pillow.

Placing a final kiss on the flushed throat, I sigh and roll over onto my back.

_ ___________________________________________________________________________ _

It takes me a few moments to recover from Draco’s ministrations. Taking a couple of deep breaths I’m finally able to move. I turn to face the man lying next to me, head resting on one raised hand.

"Er, why did you stop?" I ask.

Draco sighs softly again, then turns his head to look at me. Seeing the obviously disgruntled look on my face he grins. "Ronald, are you actually _pouting_?"

I feel myself blush again (damn my colouring) and lower my head. "Yeah well," I mumble, "I was enjoying that."

_ ___________________________________________________________________________  _

Oh so was I, Weasel. So was I.

I reach a hand up to push Weasley’s fringe out of his eyes (let’s not obscure the pretty view now). My hand trails around to the back of the other man’s neck and I gently pull him down to lie next to me.

"I’m glad to hear it, Weasel." I hug him close, "Believe me, neither one of us is leaving this bed until I am completely and utterly satisfied. It could take months." Weasley’s laughter vibrates across my chest.

"Tragically, however," I continue. " _You_ are a bloody Gryffindor through and through. Hence our disturbingly clothed situation." And I sweep the hand that isn’t currently preoccupied with running red strands of hair through my fingers, across our bodies to emphasise the point. "We both know that your delicate sensibilities require a deep, heartfelt talk before we can get down to some deep, heartfelt sha-"

Weasley’s hand shoots up to gag my mouth at this point. And we both start laughing.

~~~

Half an hour later, Weasley’s sitting with his back against the headboard. I’m sitting between his legs, leaning back into his chest.

"Do try to not get crumbs in my hair, Weaselbee," I say looking upwards.

Weasley playfully cuffs me on the side of the head. "Are you implying I lack etiquette, Ferret?"

I snort. "I had to watch your appalling table manners for seven years, remember? I _know_ you lack etiquette."

He retaliates by dipping his biscuit into my milk (sadly, this is not a euphemism).

"Bastard!"

If someone have told me two months ago, that in a very short space of time, I would be sitting in Weasley’s bed, eating chocolate biscuits and drinking milk, I would have laughed in their face - and then killed them.

Had that same someone added that at the time I would be sitting between the other man’s very long legs, then, I would have kissed them for the idea - and then killed them again for putting such torturously unattainable images in my head.

When “The Talk” had become inevitable, Weasley had declared that he would require chocolate biscuits. I had demanded milk. The _Treaty of Versailles_ probably started on similar lines (though it is highly unlikely that Woodrow Wilson had ever sat between David Lloyd George’s legs. Probably).

"You are such a fucking coward, Malfoy."

"Excuse me?" I choke on my biscuit.

Weasley’s voice has lost the bantering tone now. "Why didn’t you just tell me?" He asks sounding hurt.

I sigh. The inevitable it seems has arrived. Oh goody. I’m so glad I fell for a Gryffindor.

For one panicked moment I think about playing the _Arrogant Malfoy_ card one last time, but then I feel the other man’s arms come round to hold me close and I just let it go.

"I was scared."

I finally admit it, finally say it.

He kisses the back of my head and softly says. "See? A coward."

I smile in relief. "Well, if I was brave wouldn’t I have been sorted into your precious Gryffindor?"

"I wish." The ex-Gryffindor whispers into my ear.

I lean over to my left to place my glass on the bedside cabinet. I then lace my fingers through Weasley’s and hold our joined hands against my chest.

"Okay, you big brave Gryffindor, so what would _you_ have done if I had told you?"

I feel the other man’s intake of breath. "Honestly?” He replies.  “I don’t know. I guess it would have depended on _when_ you told me."

I laugh before offering, "Start from first year onwards."

"Yeah, right!” He huffs into my ear.  “Because it’s really likely that you would have told me then."

I sigh again (been doing that a lot lately). Oh Weasley, I think, you and Hermione are probably going to have a very enlightening conversation one of these days. And your poor, unsuspecting, gorgeous head is going to explode.

"Humour me, Weasel."

He hugs me closer and says, "Okay, Ferret, seeing as you ask so nicely. So, first year? I wouldn’t have believed it."

I laugh, nodding my head in sympathy.

"Second year? Erm..."

Ooh, he sounds embarrassed. This could be interesting.

"Actually...I still wouldn’t have believed it. And well, I wouldn’t have had a clue what to do even if I did."

I turn to frown at him. "Oh come off it, Weasel!"

He’s blushing now. "No, really,” he insists. “I wish I could say otherwise, but I really wouldn’t have had a clue about… _stuff_."

"What? Even with all those older brothers?" I ask sceptical.

Weasley laughs. "Yeah, really! Even with all those brothers! Mum would have killed them if they’d corrupted her ickle Ronniekins. And believe me they knew it."

I nudge him in the ribs. "Okay, I believe you but what about third year?"

"My head would have exploded!"

I shake my head and laugh. "Cheers, Ronald. I feel _so_ special!"

"Hey, this was your idea, prat!" he nuzzles my neck.

I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t started this discussion and had gone straight to the main event instead (Gryffindor sensibilities be damned). As I steal another kiss I grit out, "Don’t start something you’re not willing to finish, Weasel."

_ ___________________________________________________________________________  _

I grin against his warm skin. "Oh, I fully intend to finish it, Ferret."

He relaxes further back into my arms…and I pull back from his neck.  “But first, to answer your question, Mr Malfoy. After all, I wouldn’t want you to think I don’t consider your wishes..."

"Bastard,” Draco spits out sulkily.  “You do know that this is cruel and unusual torture, don’t you?"

I kiss him softly on the ear. "Sssh,” I soothe. He only has himself to blame.  I’d have been quite happy to skip the talking but he had insisted and now he must pay the price (after all, why should Slytherins have all the fun?).

“Right, where were we?” I continue.  “Fourth year? I would have thought it was an elaborate plot to get Harry. Actually, I pretty much thought everything back then was an elaborate plot to get Harry! Mashed potatoes instead of roast on a Thursday - a plot to get Harry! Boggart found in a disused greenhouse - a plot to get Harry! Draco Malfoy declaring his undying love for me - yep, definitely a fucking plot to get Harry!!!"

Draco punches my arm.

Undeterred I continue with a grin. "That brings us to fifth year. I wouldn’t have needed a reason. Wouldn’t have cared why. Would have just jumped your bones!"

Draco lurches to the side obviously shocked by my comment. "You, WHAT?!" He shouts.

I’m laughing now. "Oh, come on, Draco, I was fifteen - hormones remember? I would have shagged a dementor had it stayed still long enough."

"Fucking hell!” He sputters.  “Thank you very much! You mean, I could have had you ten years ago? Bastard! Right, Weasel, you owe me ten years of shags!"

I laugh. "Hey, I only said I’d have done it once! What makes you think I would have come back for more?"

He bristles at that. "Oh, believe me, Weasley, with me once is never enough."

I snort, practically doubled over with laughter. Then, I notice his fierce scowl.

Oops.

Perhaps a distraction is needed. "So, what about you, Draco?" I ask curiously.

He turns around to look up into my face. "What about me?" He responds.

I roll my eyes. _Dense bugger_. "What would _you_ have done if I _had_ reciprocated?" I ask exasperated.

"Ah." He turns back around as if he’s afraid to meet my eye. "Okay, let me see. I think I was a bit ahead of you, Ronald." He pauses and turns his head slightly to throw a superior smirk my way. "Well, let’s face it I always was."

I just shake my head and smile (feeling somewhat amazed that a remark that only a month ago would have had me launching myself at the smug bastard, now only makes me smile).

"In first year," he continues faced forward again. "I think there was a definite possibility that my head would have exploded too. After that, well..." he swallows hard. "I’d have to say, that your dementor terminology would pretty much have hit the mark."

_ __________________________________________________________________________  _

Several long minutes of silence pass.

Shit. I’ve given him a stroke.

I can feel him breathing against my back, so I know that he hasn’t dropped dead.

Eventually, I can’t take the silence any longer.

"Weasley, can you please say something."

I can feel him taking a deep breath.

"Fuck."

More silence follows.

"Er, Weasley. Could you perhaps expand on that, please?"

The other man leans down until his chin rests on my shoulder.

"Sorry," he speaks softly this time into my ear. "You took me a bit by surprise there."

"No, really? I couldn't tell." The sarcasm is belied by my relieved sigh. At least I haven’t caused any permanent damage.

"It’s just..." he pauses as if he’s not quite sure how to continue.  "Does that mean that you liked me that far back,” he finally asks.  “Or are we still talking hypothetically?"

I sigh yet again. So we’re finally here, are we? Finally, at the point of no return.  The awkward moment when I’m finally going to have to admit exactly how long I have loved the nervous idiot behind me.

 _Bloody buggering hell_.

I don’t have a problem with the actual admitting it part, but I am worried that it might just send Weasley running screaming from the room.

"Sooo,” I say slowly, trying to draw the moment out a bit longer.  “What you’re really asking is how long have I had feelings for you?" I feel the nod against my shoulder. "Honestly?" Another nod. I keep looking forward, utterly sure this time that I don’t want to see Weasley's reaction. "Okay - probably - actually - realistically - the summer before second year."

"Bloody hell!"

"Quite."

~~~

I wipe my face dry and then look at my reflection in the mirror.

Well, I’ve certainly looked better.

I shake my head and sigh softly.

I royally screwed that one up. Why didn’t I just lie? Why didn’t I tell him that I didn’t start fancying him until fifth year when the hormones kicked in? Oh no, I had to scare the poor bloke into a coma.

And really who can blame him?

I would have been pretty freaked too if someone had confessed that they’d been in love with me for what...a mere _fourteen_ years (give or take a few months). Especially, when that meant that they’d fallen for me when we were both _eleven_! No wonder Weasley is sitting in the next room with a glassy look in his eyes.

Of course, the real crux of the problem is how long can I stay in the bathroom before it becomes obvious that I’m hiding? Yes, the terrible reality is beginning to close in on me. Pretty soon I’m going to have to go back _out_ there.

Fuck _._

I glare at myself in the mirror.  Oh, pull yourself together man! You’re a Slytherin!

I shake my head. No, I’m not. School’s over. Houses mean nothing now. Perhaps they never did.

“Well,” I whisper.  “I’m a Malfoy then.”

But even that sounds hollow now. 

No, I’m past that too. Past the need. Names mean nothing. Never did.

I’ve waited, waited long enough. I’ve earned him. Finally. He knows it. I know it.

I stare at myself.  Stop being a fool, Draco.

I grin into the mirror.

Go on. You know you want to.

~~~

Weasley smiles when I walk back into the room. Shaking his head he reaches out a hand. I take it and allow myself to be pulled down.

"Prat."

"Oh, Ron..."

"Sssh..."

A hand on my cheek, soft, caressing.

Lips, there, at last. After it all. Finally, finally.


End file.
